Song of the Future
by TKcloud9
Summary: It is said that true love transcends boundaries of all kinds. Race, language, and.. time? Sure. Let's go with that. How else could the Phantom of the Opera know about things like High School Musical? Erik/OC, a conglomerate of the book and the movie.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Welcome to Song of the Future! Sadly, I had to adjust the story to fit the site's guidelines, so if there's any mentions of songs, just look them up and listen to them on your own. But other than that, enjoy the fluff!**

" _Sing to me_!"

I bolted awake, jolted by the powerful command in my dreams. I pressed a hand to my heart, trying to calm down. "It was only a dream," I reminded myself. "Only a dream." I looked at the clock and groaned. Another day in the real world...

As long as I could remember, I'd had dreams of a man: a man with a terribly deformed face and eyes that could pierce your soul, and a voice that could enchant the world. His name was Erik, and he was the Phantom of the Opera. I didn't know why, but all of my dreams were of this man, following him from birth to- well, his death.

I couldn't get his voice out of my head that day, and as I worked my shift at Starbucks, I hummed his song. "He's there, the Phantom of the Opera..."

"Been dreaming again?" my boss, Sam, asked me, with a grin.

I blushed. "Yeah."

"And? How's your imaginary boyfriend doing?"

"Non-existent, traumatized, the usual."

We both laughed, but when he turned away I frowned. I didn't know why I'd dreamed up a man who suffered so much. When I was little, my dreams of his own childhood and his tenure as assassin would scare me, and I remember going to my mom's room and begging to sleep with her. By the time she died, I was able to get over the nightmares by myself.

The shift ended as it usually did, with us divvying up the tips, and I headed home. I didn't want to go home to an empty studio apartment though, so I went downtown instead. I spent a couple hours browsing the antique shops there, and I found a tiny music box. When I cranked it and set it, I was shocked to discover that the tune was Music of the Night, a song from my dreams. I grabbed the box and took it up to the shop owner. "Where did this come from?" I asked urgently.

"It's from Paris, late 19th century. Quite a beautiful song isn't it?"

"I've heard it before," I said absently.

I didn't see the shop owner's face change slightly. "Where'd you hear it?" he asked casually.

"In my mind," I muttered, staring at the delicate engravings on the box.

There was a swift movement from the shop owner, and everything went black.

Erik Destler was at peace on the rooftop. At night, when the moon was dark, he could breathe the fresh air and feel the wind on his face without a soul to be witness. So it was a great surprise for him when, out of nowhere, a light began to shine.

He clapped the mask on and watched in amazement as a light formed in the center of the roof, became solid, and the figure of a young woman dropped to the cold stone, leaving the rooftop shrouded in darkness once again.

He approached her cautiously, and froze when he saw what she was wearing. Could it be? He brushed the hair away from her face, and studied her features. His jaw dropped and his face grew even paler than it was. It was the woman from his dreams! Every night, since he was a child, whenever he slept, he would dream of a girl, with brown eyes and brown hair, who had a fiery spirit and a beautiful voice. He dreamed she was from the future, where men and women alike wore trousers, and rode horseless carriages, and watched their opera from small boxes. Her name was Nicole Hale, and she was American. And Erik thought himself quite insane for dreaming of a strange future with a strange girl.

"But how can you be here?" he asked the silent figure.

There was no reply.

"Of course," Erik said, chagrined. She was unconscious, and probably freezing to death. He picked her up bridal-style and stiffened when she curled closer to him. He relaxed when she didn't wake up, and he went down the passageways to his lair. He laid her in the bed he'd stolen from one of the productions, and sat in a nearby chair to study her. She was definitely real. But how?

I woke up when I felt eyes staring at me fixedly. I stared blearily at the sharp green eyes that hovered above me, and then their presence finally registered. I shrieked and jumped about two feet in the air, panicking. I glanced around. A large, showy bed that I was laying on, elegant furniture sitting on rock...wait. I recognized this place. I turned slowly to the man who was staring at me. Erik. The Phantom. THE Erik, was sitting in a chair, watching me steadily. Was that curiosity in his eyes?

"Okay," I said, clearing my throat. "This is a really weird dream."

He started at the word 'dream'. "If this is a dream, mademoiselle, then surely it is I who am dreaming."

My jaw dropped. His voice was beautiful, deep and rich, just like my usual dreams. "No," I countered, "you're in my dream." I leaned forward and poked him in the arm.

We both jumped backwards in fright. He was real!

"You're real," he murmured.

"Okay, wait," I said, trying to figure out what was going on, "wait, wait, wait."

"I'm waiting," Erik said, after a moment.

"You, hush," I said. "I'm trying to think."

He smirked. "You're the most real apparition I've ever had the pleasure of seeing, mademoiselle."

"I'm not an apparition," I retorted. "If anything you're the apparition, Erik."

His eyes darkened. "How do you know my name, Nicole?"

"How do you know my name?" I asked, surprised.

"Please, mademoiselle, just wait," he said, holding up a hand. He put a hand to his forehead, starting to get a headache. "Let us state the facts, only. No questions. I have dreamed the events of your life since I was child."

"And I have dreamed of your life since I was a child," I replied, eyes widening. "How is that possible?"

"Ah, no questions, mademoiselle," he said, shaking a finger at me sternly. "Now, you appeared on the roof in a flash of light. What happened from your point of view?"

"I thought you said no questions," I sassed.

He scowled at me. "Nicole, please."

"Sorry. I get sarcastic when I'm scared."

His gaze softened. "You have no reason to be afraid."

"No reason?" I echoed. "I might have possibly ended up in 19th century France with no way to get back and you're telling me not to be afraid?"

His eyes softened even more. "Yes, I am. You are not alone here. I will help you."

I took a deep breath. True. I knew Erik. He wouldn't throw me out. "Okay," I said. "From my point of view... I was at work, then I finished, then I went to an antique store."

"What was it called?"

"The Flaming Sword."

He nodded. "Continue."

"I was looking at the music boxes, and I found one... it played Music of the Night."

"My song?" he asked, astonished.

"Yeah, it freaked me out too. I asked about it, and then-" my eyes widened. "I think he hit me with something. I blacked out, and then I was here."

Erik frowned. "That is not very helpful."

"Well it's not my fault."

"I know." He sighed. "There is nothing that can be done."

I gaped. "Then I'm stuck here?"

"Yes." He frowned at me. "I'm sorry. To be stuck with a monster such as myself."

I reached out a hand, and touched his arm tentatively. "Don't be. I'm glad I'm here with you. At least I know who you are. And you're not a monster. Please don't call yourself one."

He stood up abruptly. "You will need clothes. Are you hungry?"

"No, not really. I'm just cold, and I need a shower." My eyes widened. "Oh no. I just realized something."

"What?"

"There are no showers in the 19th century. No showers, and no toilets." I fell backwards onto the bed, horrified. "I'm gonna die."

Erik laughed outright. "You were born to perform on the stage mademoiselle." He held out a hand. "Come with me."

I grabbed his hand and he helped me up. "Where are we going?"

He led me to the bathroom, which was actually really nice. A large sink, with two taps, a claw foot tub, and-

"Is that a flush toilet?" I asked.

He grinned. "I saw it in my dreams and decided that it couldn't be too hard to build."

"You're a genius!" I hugged him enthusiastically.

He froze.

I let go of him hurriedly. "Sorry, sorry."

He gave me a sad little smile. "No one has ever hugged me in my entire life."

I swallowed hard. I knew that. "Well don't worry, then. With me around you're gonna get plenty of hugs."

"You are a very affectionate person."

I blushed. "I guess I am, yes."

He glanced at me, left, and came back with a pair of trousers and a poet's shirt. "I hope these fit," he said doubtfully. He gave me a short bow. "I will be in the main room."

"Thank you," I said.

He gave me a surprised glance and left.

I turned on the shower, discovered that it had hot water, stripped, and enjoyed my shower. I found shampoo and soap, and they smelled like Old Spice. I enjoyed my long, hot shower, and toweled off. The trousers fit me big, so I tied the waistband with my hair tie to keep it up. I put my pink camisole back on and put on the poet's shirt over it. It smelled like Erik: candlewax and ink, and roses. I rolled up the sleeves around my elbows and combed my hair through my fingers. Barefoot, I left the bathroom and went to find Erik.

He was at his piano, playing, trying to order his thoughts. Nicole could not speak French; she couldn't go up above. If she was to stay here she would need clothes, and to learn French, and he would need to ask Nadir for more food, and-

"Erik?"

He turned at the sound of his name. "You need shoes," he said, looking at her bare feet curiously. Her toenails were painted a bright pink.

She smiled wryly. "No kidding." She shivered suddenly, and went to curl up in the couch, huddling into her oversized clothes.

Erik frowned and stood up. With a graceful sweep, he draped his cloak over her and plopped the hood on her head. "Here."

She scrambled to get the hood off her face and scowled at him cheerfully. "Thanks."

He grinned. He hadn't smiled this much in his whole life. "You must be hungry," he said, and went to the kitchen.

He made a simple meal of bread and cheese, and gave his guest a plate.

"Aren't you going to eat?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"Why n- oh." She nodded. "Your mask gets in the way. I forgot." She took a deep breath. "You can take it off, you know."

"Believe me mademoiselle, your appetite would vanish if I did so," he said coolly.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Erik, you forget I've seen your unmasked face every night in my dreams since I was a child. The sight of it hasn't bothered me since I was eight years old."

He could only stare at her. Could it be that she really didn't mind it? "No," he said firmly.

She sighed. "Erik, please. We're going to be seeing a lot of each other, and I don't want you to think that I'm scared of you." She reached out, but didn't touch the mask. "Please Erik."

He swallowed hard, suddenly nervous. He knew her facial expressions, he didn't see any hint of fear or loathing. There was only one thing to do. He slowly reached up and removed the mask, casting his gaze down to his lap so he wouldn't see the fear in her eyes.

I stared at his unmasked face. It was exactly like in my dreams: half the skin was red and irritated, the other half was white and pale. His nose, his lip, and his eye were all pulled out of shape, and there was a sort of dent in his skull, near his temple. At first glance it truly was horrific, but I'd had my entire life to get used to it, and it didn't scare me. I reached out to cup his cheek softly. "It's fine, Erik," I said, tilting his chin up so he'd look at me. "It's fine."

He flinched at her soft touch, and met her gaze reluctantly, and his eyes widened in disbelief when he saw her smiling at him gently.

"There," she said, smiling at him, her hand still on his cheek. "There's the Erik I know."

He closed his eyes, suddenly overcome with emotion. This was the first time anyone had touched his face in kindness, rather than hate, and it made him want to weep with gratitude.

I saw his eyes fill up with tears and mine began to tear up as well. "It's okay," I said softly, pulling him into a hug and letting him hide his face in my shoulder. I felt a few hot tears soak through the shoulder of my shirt and I smoothed his hair gently. I knew this was the first time someone had hugged him, and I was determined not to spoil it.

He drew back after a few moments, his eyes still red, but composed. "Thank you," he said, turning his deformed side away from me on instinct.

I smiled at him reassuringly. "I told you Erik, your face doesn't scare me." I held out the plate. "Would you like to eat now?"

We ate in silence, and afterwards he replaced his mask and put the things away. "I will be back soon," he said. "Don't try and leave the cave, or you might be caught in a trap."

"I know where they all are," I told him.

"Still," he said sternly, and consciously softened his tone. "I don't want you to be hurt."

I nodded. "I'll stay here." I handed him his cloak. "Here, by the way."

"Thank you." He gave me a small bow and swept away. Ten points for aplomb.

I pulled the top blanket off my bed, and wrapped it around myself. I took a short nap, and then decided to explore the cave itself. My explorations were cut short when I came to the piano. It was a beautiful piano, one that Erik used frequently to compose, and placed my hands on the keys reverently.

Erik returned to the lair a few hours later, his arms full of boxes, and heard the faint strains of music coming from his lair. He sped up, eager to see Nicole playing the piano.

She was seated at the piano, playing the intro to The Piano Guys' version of Secrets, by One Republic. Then, she started to sing, the words resounding through the air.

She trailed off in the last verse and looked at the keys thoughtfully. "So what do you think, Erik?" she asked.

He jumped, startled that she'd sensed his presence. "You were wonderful, Nicole," he assured her. "You have a beautiful voice. I've always thought so."

She blushed. "Really?"

"Truly." He waved her over to the table. "Come see." He started opening the boxes. Mindful of Nicole's 21st century nature, he'd bought only a couple day dresses, easy to wear and move around in, and two pairs of men's trousers that would probably fit her better, as well as two shirts. Nobody would see her in these, but he knew if he didn't get them he would be yelled at. A nightgown, various underclothes that a shop lady had packed for him, a pair of boots and a pair of slippers, hair and skin products, and a shawl and cloak. "I hope I got everything," he said, watching her face eagerly for her approval.

She did not disappoint.

"These are great," I said, giving him a quick hug. I looked through all the boxes, and asked suspiciously, "no corsets, right?"

"No. I know you do not wear them in the future."

"Good. I had to wear one for a school play once and I almost passed out."

"They restrict your singing voice, as well," Erik said.

I smirked. "And how do you know that?"

He turned red. "I, uh,"

I burst into laughter at the embarrassed look on his face. "Just teasing."

He gave me a mock scowl and gestured to the bedroom where I'd been sleeping. "That is your room, from this point onwards."

I put my things in there, and organized them in the wardrobe. I traded for a pair of the better fitting shirt and pants, and found that Erik's guess of sizes was spot-on. I braided my hair, put on some stockings and the boots, and wrapped the shawl around my shoulders. There. Now I looked relatively normal. I could kill for some eyeliner or mascara though. And some blush; I looked like a vampire. Maybe Erik would steal me some makeup from the costume department above our heads.

I stared at myself in the mirror. I was really here. Actually under the Opera Populaire, in the Phantom's guest room. I pinched myself fiercely. Ow. Nope. Still not a dream.

I came out of the guest room and saw Erik at the piano. He wasn't playing, he was writing. Composing. He looked up when I stepped out though. "So what'd you think?" I asked, coming closer. "Look better?"

"Indeed," he said, nodding. "And if you are in need of something, tell me and we will procure it somehow."

"Thank you."

He nodded distractedly.

I watched him for a while and asked, "So what now?"

"What do you mean, mademoiselle?"

"I mean I can't just sit here all day."

"Then sing," Erik suggested. "I do not mind."

I gave him a Look. "Erik, you know what I mean."

"I know," he said, frowning. "But I have just gotten you, I do not wish to share you with the world so soon."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm not a package you got in the mail, mister, you don't own me."

"No," he said, backtracking. "I didn't mean that."

"Uh-huh. Speaking of which, ground rules." I didn't want to have to say it, but I knew what he was like without boundaries, and that was an Erik I never wanted to see in real life.

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"I know you," I said, pointing a finger at him. "I know you are a good man at heart. But you will not lose your temper with me. If you lay a finger on me, or a rope, or do anything to harm me, I will leave, and I will not come back. Understood?"

He nodded, eyes wide. "I would never," he promised.

"Promise me."

He raised his right hand, his eyes solemn. "I swear, on my music, I will not harm you."

"Good. Second rule."

"Yes?"

"Don't call yourself a monster."

He blinked at that one. "What?"

"I mean it. No self-loathing."

"Why?" he demanded.

I sat next to him. "Because you are a genius, and I'm your friend, and I don't want you to hate yourself. I don't want you to hate anybody, really, but we can work on that."

"Now listen," he growled, "you have no right to begin dictating my thoughts or my life."

I frowned at him. "As someone who cares for you, yes, I do."

That stopped him. "You care for me?" he inquired.

"Of course I do. How could I know your whole life story and not care for you?"

He frowned. "I do not want pity."

"And I'm not giving you any," I retorted. "Empathy and compassion, yes. Pity, no. Pity makes me want to throw up."

He saw the sad look in her eyes and deduced correctly she was remembering her mother's funeral. He'd woken up from that dream in tears. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

She cleared her throat and looked away briefly. "Thanks."

"Is that all, mademoiselle?" he asked, returning to the topic of ground rules.

"For you anyways," she said. "Anything for me?"

"Do not go into the tunnels without me," he said. "And I want you to sing."

"Now?" she asked, surprised.

"Whenever you wish. Just, sing. Music is better with two people."

She grinned. "It's gonna be like living in a musical."

"A what?"

"It's like an opera but less... operatic. Oh, I don't know. Like, did you ever dream of me watching High School Musical? I had a phase, a few years ago."

"We're all in this together?" he asked, remembering a slightly distasteful dream filled with sub-par songs and teenage drama.

"Precisely." She giggled. "I can't believe the phantom of the opera knows that song."

He grinned in spite of himself.

"What team?" she asked suddenly.

"Wildcats," he replied promptly.

She burst into laughter, and laughed so hard she had to lean on him or fall off the bench. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Erik couldn't help but smile. "Very fun."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Chapter Two! There's another song in here, which sets the tone for part of the scene.**

It was day 2 in this surreal situation, and I was bored. I mean, yes, the lair is huge on atmosphere, but activity? I can't sing for 12 hours straight, and all of his books were in French. "Erik," I whined, collapsing on the floor in front of him dramatically. "I'm bored... I'm really, really bored."

He rolled his eyes at me. "What do you want me to do about it?"

"Take me on an adventure," I suggested, giving him my best pleading puppy eyes.

He groaned. He could not resist her soulful brown eyes and that cute little pout. "Fine. Get your cloak."

I grinned. Puppy eyes always work.

"Now, whatever you do, don't go through this door," Erik said, pointing at a recess in the wall.

"What's through there?" I asked.

He gave me a glare. "You do not want to know."

My eyes widened. "It's the mirror chamber with the tree, isn't it?"

He winced. "You know about that?"

"I told you already, I've seen your whole life. I dreamed the day you invented it." I folded my arms, frowning. "That torture chamber has got to go."

"No!" he protested. "What if someone wanders down and finds their way to the lair?"

"Then you kick 'em out again," I retorted. "Killing is bad! And torture by baking or hanging to death is even worse!"

He glared at me.

I took a deep breath. Yelling would not help. "Erik, listen," I said reasonably. "You are a brilliant man. Surely you can find another way of doing things that doesn't involve harming people?"

"Why should I?" he asked defiantly.

"Because I know you can be better than this." I gestured to the torture chamber reminiscent of his days in Persia. "This, this is from a man who was drugged and manipulated, guided by an evil king's desires." I gestured to the piano, to the organ, to the violin. "And this, this is from a kind musical genius. You can't be both, Erik. You have to pick one, or the struggle will destroy you."

"How do you know?" he asked hoarsely.

"Because I've seen it happen in my dreams," I said truthfully. "And I don't want that to happen to you in real life. Please, Erik."

He looked at me long and hard, and finally sighed. "If you want me to take this down, we cannot go on an adventure," he said.

I grinned from ear to ear and threw my arms around him. "I knew you were a good man," I said, hugging him tightly.

He went to get his tools, and after he removed a few key mirrors I helped him take down the hangman's tree in the center of the chamber. It was eerie, seeing hundreds of me and Erik's, chopping down a tree. I started to hum, the memory of a movie coming back to me. I wasn't a fan of The Hunger Games, but I did like this one song, The Hanging Tree.

"That's rather macabre," Erik said, glancing sideways at me as I finished the rest of the verse.

"Fitting, though," I replied.

"True. Sing the rest?"

I obliged, feeling strangely nervous with my one-man audience. Even if he wasn't looking at me as he took down the trap, he was listening intently.

He smiled. "You really do have a beautiful voice."

"Thanks."

We managed to take it all down, and Erik sent me to make dinner while he put a new trap in - one that was non-lethal.

"We're going to go up tomorrow right?" I asked, when Erik came in.

"Yes. I want you to learn these tunnels, so you'll be able to navigate in the dark." He grinned. "So, we'll go tonight."

"Tonight?" I squeaked.

"Mademoiselle, I am the phantom. Phantoms work at night."

I scowled. "Fine. Then you wash the dishes."

He gaped at me for a second, and then, to my surprise, he picked up our plates and went into the kitchen area.

"Oh wow," I said, "I didn't mean it, really. I can wash them."

"No, no, go sit down." He gave me a half smile. "You cook, I clean, and vice versa."

"Erik, you are a credit to mankind."

He gave me a half-smile. "I am glad you think so." He wiped his hands on a towel and said, "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

He led me to the nearest tunnel and ushered me in. We were in pitch black darkness as he closed the door.

"You do remember I don't actually like the darkness right?" I asked, reaching for his hand hesitantly.

He let me hold his hand and tugged me down the corridor. "Watch your feet," he said.

"I can't see my feet."

"Don't sass me."

"I can sass whom I like," I retorted.

He rolled his eyes. "Nicole, please concentrate. Put your right hand on the wall and count your steps. At 1000, we will turn to the right."

"Okay."

We headed through the tunnels, and Erik taught me how to get to Mme. Giry's office, Box 5, and the manager's office. "This way you can get to the most important places if I cannot."

I yawned. "Yep."

"Are you paying attention?"

I yawned again. "Yep. Totally got it."

"Good. Then lead the way."

I yawned again. "Yep." And I headed through the tunnel, Erik following me. I yawned again.

"Stop yawning," he told me impatiently.

"I can't." I yawned again. "I'm tired. It's like 2 in the morning. I never had shifts this late."

We got to the lair without incident, and Erik grudgingly gave me permission to go through the tunnels. "But ONLY if you tell me beforehand," he said. "And no wandering."

I gave him a tired salute. "Yes boss."

He nodded. "Good. Go to bed before you fall down."

I tripped over the stone steps. "Too late," I grumbled.

He snickered and helped me up. "Do you want me to hold your hand?" he said mockingly.

"Go away." I went to my room and as I curled up under the covers I yelled, "good night!"

"Good night," he called back.

The next day, when I woke up, it was already late, and I found a cinnamon brioche waiting for me on the dining room table. "Awesome."

I made breakfast, washed my jeans and my T-shirt in the bathtub, hung them out to dry in the bathroom, and created a Rube Goldberg machine with candelabras, a scale, a xylophone, endless thread, a tube, and a metal ball bearing.

As soon as Erik came into the lair, I pulled the string. "Watch watch watch," I said excitedly.

He watched in amazement as the ball traveled across the various things, lighting candelabras as it went, and plopped into the sink. "How long did it take you to make this?" he asked.

"Uh, five hours."

"Brava."

She grinned. "Thanks. I made dinner."

They ate, and afterwards, Erik said, "would you like to go to the opera, mademoiselle?"

She grinned. "Yes I would, monsieur."

"Good. But you can't go like that."

"Like what?"

He gestured to her trousers and shirt. "You have to wear a dress."

She scowled. "Erik, no one's even going to see us."

"I will see you, and you cannot go to the opera in trousers."

I could tell he wasn't going to change his mind, so I went to my room and pulled out a dress. It was a light purple, and it complimented my skin color. I still needed makeup.

Erik knocked on my door. "Nicole?"

"Yeah?" I opened the door.

He handed me a box. "A present from the ballet rats."

I opened it. Makeup. "Perfect." I closed the door and went to the mirror. I put on black eyeliner, managed to smudge it into smoky eye, darkened and lengthened my eyelashes with the 19th century version of mascara, and put on some blush. I braided my hair down the sides and pinned it up into a tiny bun. There. Fully civilized. I looked like a native.

When I came out, Erik was waiting for me in his usual black outfit, and he smiled widely when he saw me. "You look lovely," he said, offering me his arm.

I couldn't fight the blush that rose to my cheeks. "Thank you. You look nice as always."

We ventured up to Box 5 and got there to watch the orchestra warm up and watch the people file in. "Which opera is it?" I asked.

He told me, but the French name went right over my head.

"What's it about?"

He gave me a frustrated look. "You will see."

I leaned back in my chair and waited for the opera to begin. Once it did, I was enthralled. It was the story of a girl lost in the forest, who finds a mystical land and falls in love with a tree spirit, but she's banished from the land when they realize she's a human. Both the tree spirit and the girl pine away and die.

Erik watched Nicole wipe away tears during the final aria, and smiled. She had a tender heart, and when she wasn't being sarcastic and stubborn, she was quite the romantic. He had many dreams of her watching romance movies with her friends and lamenting lost love.

They gave the cast a standing ovation and as they ventured down the passage to the lair Erik said, "The ballet needs to have better timing. They missed at least four cues."

"I didn't notice," Nicole said.

"How did you not notice? They were three minutes behind by the end of the first act."

Nicole raised an eyebrow at him. "I was doing something called enjoying myself," she said. "You should try it sometime." She laughed at his insulted look and hugged him lightly. "Sometimes you need to stop analyzing things and just relax."

"They are the most famous opera in the world, they have to be perfect," Erik protested.

"Okay," she said, shrugging. "It's your opera."

"Yes. It is."

She rolled her eyes at him.

The next day Erik wrote a series of notes and was preparing to deliver them. He was surprised to see Nicole come out of the kitchen with two cups of tea. "Morning," she said, handing him the tea.

"Good morning," he said.

"Can I come with you?"

"I will just be delivering notes."

"I know. But I want to go with you."

"Why?"

"I don't like to be alone down here."

Erik felt a stab of guilt. You could not keep such a spirited creature alone in the dark. "I'm sorry," he said. "I will introduce you to Mme. Giry today, and she will be someone you can talk to and go out with."

She smiled. "Thank you."

He took her on a tour and let her drop a few of the notes.

"You know, watching them scream is really satisfying," she whispered, as they hid in the catwalks after dropping a note on a ballet rat's head.

"You see why I do it, then," he said.

She grinned. "Yeah."

"The best target is the Prima Donna," Erik informed her. "She screams louder than anyone."

Their next stop was Mme. Giry's office. She was having a cup of tea after practice, and when the back of the closet slid open, she began to pour another cup. "Hello, Erik," she said, turning to face him. She saw Nicole, and her jaw dropped. "Erik, who is this?"

"This is Nicole," Erik said. "She is from America."

Mme. Giry looked at him suspiciously. "Did you kidnap her?"

He gave her a dirty look. "No, I did not."

"Are you forcing her to stay with you?"

"No. What kind of a person do you think I am?"

I looked from Mme. Giry to Erik. I did know some French, from my dreams, and she was questioning him. And Erik was starting to get mad. I took his hand and squeezed it lightly, trying to remind him I was here. He relaxed fractionally.

Mme. Giry looked at me oddly and I gave her a tiny wave. "Hi."

"Bonjour," she said. "What are you doing here?" Her English was actually okay.

"I'm lost," I replied simply. "And I've known Erik my whole life, so I'm staying with him."

"How did you meet him?" she asked.

"In my dreams."

She gaped at me. "You are the girl."

"What?"

She turned to Erik and fired off a question in rapid French. He replied in equally rapid French.

"What are you talking about?" I asked plaintively.

"Nothing," Erik replied.

I folded my arms and glared at him. "Doesn't sound like nothing to me."

"Nicole," he sighed, exasperated.

"Well how can she recognize me if I've never been here?" I asked, starting to get scared. "Did she know this was going to happen? Did _you_ know?"

"No," he said calmly, firmly. "Allow me to return to the lair and I will show you."

"Sure."

"Good." He gave a brief instruction to Mme. Giry and vanished through the wall.

"Is he treating you well?" she asked after a few seconds of awkward silence.

"Yes." I smiled. "He's the perfect gentleman."

She nodded, looking relieved. "And you know about..."

"His past? Yes." I gave her a tiny nod. "You were his lifesaver."

She nodded in response.

Erik came back a few minutes later with papers in his hand. Drawings. He laid them in front of me and stepped back, faint embarrassment on his face.

I looked at the first drawing. It was me, my face drawn in perfect detail, even down to the little acne scar above my nose. I turned to the next one. It was me, again, holding a cup of coffee, the background obviously my work. The other one was from when I was younger, the day my mom died. I could see my own sadness in the picture, and I felt tears well up in my eyes. I flipped the page over quickly. The last picture was from a few days ago, from when we went to the opera.

"I've been drawing you my entire life," he confessed. "I had to put your memories down somehow."

"So you have more of these?" I asked.

"Maybe..."

Mme. Giry spoke up. "How long are you staying here?"

Erik and I shared a glance. "I don't know how to get back," I said slowly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Which is why we are taking care of you," Erik said firmly.

"Do you have any skills?" Mme. Giry asked.

"Uh... not really?"

"She is an excellent singer, a very good cook, and she can make coffee into a work of art," Erik said.

I shrugged. "So, pretty much useless to an opera house."

"Not useless to me," Erik said protectively, putting an arm around me. "She helps me with my work and she makes dinner." He glared at Mme. Giry.

"Fine. But Erik, you cannot keep a girl in your house like that. It is not proper."

"I'm a phantom and she hasn't been born yet, our existence isn't even proper."

"Good point."

"And besides,' I said. "I don't speak French and I can't get a job. Being Erik's housekeeper is much more interesting."

"You do need to learn French though," Erik told me. "We will start your lessons tomorrow."

"Aw, come on," I said, scowling, "I took French in high school and I really didn't like it. There's all those extra vowels at the end of words and that weird camel gagging thing you gotta do with your throat and just, ugh."

They were both staring at me. "You sound quite mad," Mme. Giry said frankly.

I blushed slightly. "Insanity loves company."

Erik grinned at me.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The language of romance, and the true test of Nicole's singing skills.**

Erik began teaching Nicole French the very next day, and he found that in spite of her complaints she had a good grasp of the language. "After all, I've been dreaming it my whole life," she said.

"Your pronunciation is still off," he chided. "Speak from back here." He tapped her throat.

"I can't. I've tried."

"Yes you can." He frowned, trying to think of a way to get her to speak properly. "Nicole, do you know any songs in French?"

"Errrr, kind of?"

"Sing one."

I thought about which songs I knew, and decided on a version of 'Imaginer.' Jackie Evancho did a lovely rendition of it a few years ago. I took a deep breath and started to sing, closing my eyes and letting the operatic notes hit their potential.

He was staring at me.

"What?" I asked, blushing under his intense stare. "Was it that bad?"

"I've changed my mind," Erik said, looking strangely overcome.

I winced. "It _was_ that bad." If I had known I was going to be living with the greatest musical genius of all time I would've kept up my singing lessons...

"No," he said, breaking my train of thought, "that was a performance worthy of the prima donna."

I gaped. "Whaaaat?"

"You have been hiding that voice from me," he said, shaking his head. "And I recognize a classically trained voice when I hear one."

I winced. "Yeah…"

He dimly remembered dreams of voice lessons for a fledgling soprano. "How long were you taking lessons?" he demanded.

"Since I was eight, and then till I was 20."

He gaped. "Why were you working in a coffee shop if you can sing like _that_?"

I was pretty sure my face was fire truck red by now. "I get stage fright."

"What?" He stared at me blankly. Stage fright for a melodramatic phantom was a non-concept.

"Really bad stage fright," I stressed.

"You sing fine here."

I gave him a Look. "We're in a cave five cellars down from the main opera house where no one can hear me and I've known you my whole life. And even then, look." I showed him my hands. They were shaking slightly from the intense scrutiny he was giving me.

Erik was astonished. He could not believe someone with so much personality and sass could have stage fright. "How bad is it?" he asked.

"We had a performance when I was 14. I sang two lines of my solo and passed out."

He winced. "Oh."

"Yeah. And I took choir all high school, and had to stand behind the tallest guy in class so I wouldn't pass out or throw up. Even then, before and afterwards I'd get sick from nerves."

He winced again. "We'll have to work on that."

"No." She shook her head. "I'm not singing outside of this cave."

"Nicole."

"No." She left the living room and holed up in her bedroom.

He frowned. This was going to be a difficult battle.

It turned out there was no battle to speak of. Nicole refused to sing at all.

"Nicole please, this is completely childish. If you don't want to sing in public that's fine, but surely you can sing here." He gestured around the looming lair.

"Nope. I know you. You'll find a way to guilt trip me into it and I'll end up on that stupid stage and make a fool of myself." And she walked away to play the piano. Loudly. Pointedly not singing.

He sighed. "Nicole, I'm going up to the opera house."

"Fine. I'll be here. Not singing."

He went to see the Daroga at his home and explained his problem. "I think you should keep to teaching her French," the Persian said plainly.

"But her voice, Daroga! She has a beautiful voice! I hadn't realized because she was singing in a limited range, but she sang an operatic style song and her voice just soared…" He trailed off. "And now she won't even sing at all," he said pitifully.

"I don't know what either you or I could do. To start with, find out why she has such stage fright, and get her to sing for you."

Erik nodded, frowning. "Women are complicated creatures."

"Yes they are. But if she trusts you, it is worth the effort." Nadir clapped a hand on his shoulder cheerfully. "This girl could be the making of you."

When Erik returned I watched him suspiciously. I didn't know what sort of tricks he had up his sleeve. He came over to me and conjured a rose from thin air. A beautiful pale orange rose tied with a dark purple ribbon. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "I do not want to fight with you. I will not force you to sing, either here or in public."

I took the rose with a smile. "Thank you, Erik. I suppose it is silly not to sing here, with just the two of us."

He gave me a blinding smile. "That would be wonderful."

So I started singing again. It was hard, because now I was acutely aware of Erik listening to me, and I would freeze up. But he gave me the façade of absolute unconcern, not even glancing at me, and I got over myself.

The French lessons continued for the next few weeks, and once Erik put my vocabulary to song, I was able to memorize words and phrases pretty easily. Except the numbers. "Your number system is insane," I said flatly, throwing the textbook at Erik's head.

He caught it easily and stood up. "Come along. Time for a field trip."

"What? Where are we going?"

"You are going to the market to purchase food and supplies. I will be in the shadows, following you to make sure you don't get kidnapped or insult someone's family." He smirked at me.

I scowled at him cheerfully. "I don't even know the words to insult anybody. And I don't want to know."

"Remind me not to let you near the stagehands."

I put on a dress, shoes, and put my hair in a simple braid. With Erik following behind me, I ventured out into the streets of Paris.

Amazingly, I was able to communicate with the shopkeepers and get what we needed, and then I ignored Erik's subtle gesturing and headed for the park. I hadn't had sunshine in days and I really needed some Vitamin D. I got to the park and found an empty bench. There was no one in the park at this time of day, probably eating lunch, and so I took off my cloak, spread it on the grass, laid flat on my back and closed my eyes.

A dark shadow fell over me. "What are you doing?"

"Getting a tan."

"You should not ruin your skin."

"I won't get sunburned for another fifteen minutes. I've timed it before."

"We really should get back to the opera house."

"Erik, there's no hurry. Don't worry about it." I patted the grass next to me. "There. Pull up a seat."

He sat down next to me, his entire being on alert. "I don't like this."

"It's just a park, Erik. We're fine. Nobody's watching, nobody will recognize either of us. It's fine. Relax."

He relaxed fractionally and leaned back on his hand, tilting his face up to the sky.

"Nice, isn't it?"

"Hm."

"We should go out and about more often," I said. "It's not healthy being stuck down there all the time."

He was silent on that subject.

It was about a week later, after another visit to market, that Erik decided to bring up the singing again. "Nicole?"

"Yes?"

"Would you let me coach you?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "Erik."

"Not for the stage," he said hurriedly, "just for us. You, to keep your voice in top form."

I frowned at him, trying to read his expression. He looked sincere. And I hadn't really done anything besides basic vocal exercises in a few years. "Well…"

"Please?"

I couldn't resist his puppy eyes and relented. "Fine."

He gave me a huge smile. "Perfect. We start tomorrow."

I nodded. "Great."

To practice, Erik commandeered one of the rooms in the opera house that contained a piano. Over the course of three days he played various tricks and it was declared haunted by the ballet rats. No one would go near it now.

And now he had an excuse to make Nicole sing at her full potential. Every time she sang he had trouble concentrating on technique since he was bowled away by her voice. And when they sang duets, it was like they were in heaven. Finally, with this girl from the future, he was able to find true beauty.

Mme. Giry commented a few days later that their voices were able to be heard all over the opera house, echoing in the silence of the night.

Nicole turned bright red at that. "You mean everybody's been listening to me sing for days?"

"Nights," Erik corrected.

She rounded on him angrily. "You did that on purpose."

"Of course I did." He gave her a small smile. "You were singing to the entire opera house and you were fine."

"Because I didn't _know_."

"And now you know, are you going to stop?" He waited with his heart in his throat while Nichole thought.

"No," Nichole said, after a long moment. "I can do this. I mean, it's not like they're gonna see me. I'll just be, a voice in the wind."

Erik grinned to himself. Progress.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Fourth chapter. Nothing like a good dash of stage fright to bring on the fluff.**

That night when we went to practice, I couldn't sing. My throat just completely closed up. I could just imagine all those people, trying to go to sleep, and listening to me sing. What if some of them were annoyed? What if nobody liked my voice? I started to feel sick to my stomach.

"Nicole?"

Erik's soft voice brought me out of my daze and I glanced over at him. "Yeah?"

"You've gone quite pale," he observed in alarm. "Are you ill?"

"I just..." she swallowed hard, "I realized people can actually hear me."

"But they don't know it's you," he encouraged.

"Yeah I know." She started to swoon a little bit, her face deathly pale.

He grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the piano bench. "Breathe," he instructed, wrapping an arm around her so that she wouldn't fall off the seat.

She turned into his shoulder for stability. "Kay," she said faintly.

He waited until she regained some color before he spoke. "I didn't know anyone could have stage fright so severe," he said. "It is truly a shame."

I shook my head, my cheeks red. "I'm sorry. I just, I can't."

He rubbed my back lightly, comfortingly. I don't think he even knew he was doing it. "Don't worry," he said.

I sighed. "I wish I could push past this, fix it, I don't know. My teachers tried, my parents tried, I've tried."

He tipped my chin up to meet his eyes, his eyes light and his tone teasing. "Ah, but you are not the phantom of the opera, mademoiselle. He can do anything."

I smiled in spite of myself. "You wish."

"I do." He grinned at me. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," I replied, without hesitation.

"Well then." His grin turned into a smirk. "I bet I can have you singing in front of an audience without passing out by the end of the year."

I felt faint just thinking about it. "Impossible. That's only two months away."

"And?"

"I can't even sing here."

"You will," he promised. "Look, just focus on my voice."

"Okay..."

He gave me an encouraging smile, and started to sing the first two lines of the song.

I started to smile. "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory."

He grinned at me, and sang the next two lines coaxingly.

My grin got wider. This was one of my favorite songs. If he wanted to make me calm down it was working.

He finished the verse and looked at me expectantly as he played the next note on the piano. Somehow, I opened my mouth and started singing the next verse.

We took turns singing the rest of the verses, and finished with a flourish.

I let the last note fade away and leaned on Erik's shoulder. "Wow, those notes go high," I said, exhausted from the effort.

"But you hit all of them," he said, pleased. "And guess what?"

"What?"

"You sang." He smiled at me. "You forgot you had an audience and you sang for the joy of singing. That is the key, Nicole, and you've found it. I am very proud of you."

I hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Erik."

He didn't even flinch as he hugged me back. "You are welcome. Now do you think you can do it again?"

With this development my brain was buzzing and I felt insanely confident. "Yes."

That seemed to be my breakthrough. As long as I was completely focused on Erik's presence, I forgot about the rest of the world. I think I could've been singing to the whole world and it wouldn't have mattered. Something about singing with him was magical, and it made the thought of an audience bearable.

We went on like that, working on singing, practicing breathing, and speaking French. With full immersion in the culture of Paris and Erik refusing to speak a single syllable of English, I was fairly fluent in French within a couple months. I could now speak the language of love with the best of them. Not that it was doing much for my manners.

"Why can you not sit up straight?" Erik demanded, nearly making me drop my book.

"Sorry." I sat up straight, and inevitably slouched down again.

He growled in annoyance. "You and your twenty first century ways! Civilization seems to have devolved from this point onwards! You sit like a sailor, your table manners are those of a savage and your whole being is nonchalant and impolite. Even now you are not paying attention to me!"

I raised an eyebrow, deliberately affecting a confused air. "Say what? I wasn't paying attention."

He growled again. "Case in point, Nicole! You are impossible!"

"What do you want from me, Erik?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "I can't change overnight."

"I want you to act like what you are," he said.

"A coffee shop barista with a good karaoke voice?"

"A prima donna," he corrected. "A lady of good breeding and high training. Someone others can look up to and respect."

"Erik, no one knows I exist," I reminded him. "Except Mme. Giry, and she knows who I really am."

"They don't know yet," he corrected. "But when they do, you will represent not only yourself and your country but me. And I will not let them look down on you, for any reason."

I sighed. He had a point. I needed to act like a woman from the time period if I wanted to get anywhere, even with the Phantom's patronage. If I even got out of the lair. "Erik, let's go outside," I said impulsively.

"Why?"

"I need some air."

He scowled at me. "Will you promise to act more lady-like?"

"Yep."

He rolled his eyes, but put on his cloak. "Come along then."

"Yes!" I put on my cloak and followed him up the stairs. "That's not the way out," I pointed out.

"We're not going out," he said. "We're going up."

When we got to the roof I realized why. It was night time, and the stars were out. Down there in the lair it was hard to tell between day or night. It was like time had a different meaning there, and every time one of us sang or played, it would stop. I didn't even know what day it was. "Erik, what day is it?" I asked, looking out over the darkened city.

"April 13th," he said. "Tuesday."

I smiled briefly. "I turned 24 yesterday," I mentioned.

"24?" he said. "Already?"

"I know right?" I said. "I'm an old maid already, here."

He stayed silent for a while, and I hugged him from the side, trying to keep warm. It was cold up here. "Nicole?"

"Hm?"

"What would you be doing if you were there?" he asked. 'There' didn't need to be specified.

I smiled faintly at that question. "I would be getting off work at the coffee shop, and since it's Tuesday, I'd go home and watch Agents of Shield and then Forever on TV, and then I'd paint my nails and go to bed." I sighed.

"Do you miss it?" Erik asked.

"Of course I do," I said. "But there's no use crying over spilled milk." I smiled and leaned on his shoulder. "And besides, you've got to admit, my old life was really, really boring."

He smiled. "I cherished the normality of your existence," he said. "It was my own way of living a normal life, in my dreams."

I hugged him tightly. "Don't think about those times," I said, kissing his masked cheek lightly. "You've got friends and a pretty normal life now."

"True." He rested his chin on my head. "Thank you, Nicole.'

"For what?" Thank goodness his chin wasn't too pointy.

"For putting up with me."

I smirked. "In that case, thank you."

He smirked. "You're welcome."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever."

He chuckled. "Come on. We'd better get inside before we freeze to death."

Two weeks later, I went up to visit Mme. Giry. She was expecting me, and had a cup of tea waiting for me. We chatted about this and that, Erik, my singing, shopping, etc., and then the door opened to admit two girls, one with curly brown hair and one with blonde hair. They were in that awkward preteen stage but had the grace of ballerinas already ingrained. "Maman!" the little blonde one started, and then stopped when she saw me.

"Mlle Hale, this is my daughter Meg, and her friend Christine," Mme. Giry said, waving the two girls over. "They are both training to become ballerinas."

"Nice to meet you," I said, smiling at them.

"Are you going to work at the opera house?" Meg asked.

"Uhhhh... eventually," I replied.

Erik was watching Nicole, like he always did, when he realized that she was fully fluent in French. She could literally hold her own in society. That meant it was time. Time for her to go up to the surface, and time for her to get a job, and sing.

He sighed. He wanted her to share her talent with the world, but he didn't want her to leave.

"Erik?" Nicole asked, coming into the lair. "Everything okay?"

He simply stared at her.

She sensed his mood and gave him a hug. "Whatever it is, it's okay."

He hugged her back, inhaling her soft lavender scent. "Thank you, Nicole." He stepped back, still holding her by the shoulders. "Nicole, I believe you are ready."

"Ready for...?" she asked uncertainly.

"Ready for a job."

She paled slightly. "Well, I mean, I don't know, cuz, well, I don't think so, did you hear my last vocal exercise, it was really bad, I don't think I ought to go up there anymore for a long-"

"You are ready," he interrupted. "Trust me."

She took a deep breath. "Okay."

"Good." He gave her a grin. "By this time next week, you will have an audition."

She turned another shade of pale. "Okay."

Erik was nothing if not determined. He wrote out a handful of notes, delivered them, and created an identity for Nicole. "Where do you want to live?" he asked. "An inn, a hotel, or do you want to rent a house?"

I stared at him. "How do you mean?"

"Well you can't stay here for the rest of your life."

"...Why not?" I asked blankly.

"Because."

"Alone?" I asked.

"Unless you want to share an apartment," he said.

"No, I mean, without you?"

"Yes."

"No," I said firmly.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because, because you're my whole life, Erik. Literally, since I was born, and especially now that I don't have anyone else. I am not leaving you." I hugged him. "Not happening."

He couldn't help the smile on his face. "Very well. If you insist."

"I do," she said firmly. "I insist absolutely."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Chapter Five, hurray. There's two songs in this one. I noticed this chapter's kind of long compared to the others. Oh well. Enjoy!**

One week later, I was having a panic attack in my room. I couldn't breathe. I was not ready for this at all.

Erik knocked lightly on the door. "Nicole?" He opened the door. "Ready for your audition?" He poked his head in.

Nicole was curled up in a ball, hyperventilating, tears in her eyes.

He rushed over and sat beside her on the bed. "Nicole, breathe," he ordered, in his scariest Phantom voice.

"Can't," she gasped.

He rubbed her back lightly. "Follow my breathing," he instructed. "In... out..."

She couldn't.

So he slapped her. Lightly, very lightly, but he slapped her, and felt infinitely guilty for doing so.

She stopped breathing with a gasp and stared at him. "Okay," she said weakly, "I needed that."

"I'm sorry," he said, inspecting her cheek. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. I'm fine. I'm just, I can't go out there."

"Yes you can. We talked about this."

"Huh, yeah, talking and doing are two completely different things. If I go up there I'm going to have to sing in front of people. I can't do that. You know that. I can't sing for people."

"Don't sing for them," he said, tipping her chin up so she could meet his eyes, "sing to me." He lowered his voice, made it more persuasive, more charming. "I know you can do it; I can see it in your soul. Forget them. Sing for me."

I swallowed hard, captivated by the intensity of his gaze. "Kay," I said briefly.

He smiled at me gently. "You can do it, Nicole. I believe in you." He stood up and gave me a hand. "Come along. You have an appointment."

A pit of nervousness formed in my stomach and did not go away. I felt like I was going to throw up, but somehow, I made it up the stairs to the main opera house, and Erik gave me into Mme. Giry's care, and somehow, I felt his presence right up to the stage, right by my elbow. We went onto the stage, and somehow I knew he was right above me in the rafters. I didn't dare look up, if I did I'd probably get dizzy and trip.

"M. LeFevre, this is Nicole Hale," Mme. Giry said, going up to the manager onstage. Rehearsals were winding down for the day and people were coming in and out. A few shot me curious glances but mostly everyone ignored me.

"Ah yes, the singer," he said, coming over to me. "Mlle. Hale, how lovely to meet you."

"Likewise, monsieur," I said, giving him a curtsy. Inside, I was shaking.

He smiled at me pleasantly. "Well if you'd like to just stand over there, you can audition for us. This is M. Reyer, the conductor."

"What piece will you be singing?" M. Reyer asked.

I named an aria from one of the recent operas.

"At your leisure, mlle," M. LeFevre said.

I took a deep breath. Some of the people were staring, congregating in little groups, and everyone was looking at me. Oh boy. Nope. Nope. I couldn't do it. Then I heard a whisper.

" _Sing to me, Nicole."_

I opened my mouth, and sang. It was one of the arias from Carmen, and I made certain that I didn't look at anyone while I sang.

I held the last note, and let it fade away before I opened my eyes. A large crowd had gathered. Everyone was staring at me, and I felt a wave of nervousness hit me, and my knees nearly buckled.

"Mademoiselle Hale, you have the voice of an angel," M. LeFevre said, "you are hired."

"Simply stunning," M. Reyer said.

Mme. Giry gave me a wide smile and took my elbow, making sure I wouldn't fall over. "You did very well my dear," she said.

"We will post the cast list in two days," M. LeFevre announced. "Welcome to the Opera house. Mme. Giry, if you could get our new soprano situated."

"Of course." She led me off the stage and as soon as we were in a secluded corridor Erik appeared from one of the walls.

"You sang like an angel," he said, sweeping me up in a hug and twirling me around in a circle. "A true angel." He kissed my forehead lightly. "I knew you could do it."

I smiled and hugged him tightly. "I did it. I sang for you."

Mme. Giry was watching us with a smile, and softly cleared her throat. "We need to get you a room, Nicole."

"This one," Erik said, leading us to one of the small suites that was near the back of the hallway where the main leads lived. "The mirror is connected to a tunnel, one that acoustically, leads directly to my lair. If you call for me, I will come to you immediately, day or night."

"And I can come down to you?" I asked.

He nodded, and showed me how to open the mirror.

"In the meantime," Mme. Giry said, "you still have two days before you officially begin your job." She gave me a smile. "Enjoy your time off." And she left.

"Let's go back down," Nicole suggested, taking Erik's hand. "I want some coffee."

He smiled and opened the mirror. "After you, mademoiselle."

"Oh no, you're the one that knows the way. After you." She gave him an exaggerated curtsy.

He grinned at her antics, and then his smile faded. By the time they reached the lair, he was downright frowning.

She noticed his change of mood. "What's wrong?"

"I'm going to miss you," he admitted, avoiding her gaze.

She hugged him lightly. "I'm not leaving, Erik, I'm just going to be a few stories up."

"And you'll be busy," he said bitterly, "busier than ever with rehearsals and practice. And you'll make friends, and go out to parties, and soirees, and live life in the sun, as you should."

She stared at him for a long while. "You think I'm going to leave you," she said sorrowfully.

"Won't you?" he retorted. "Everyone turns away from this disfigured face, eventually." He turned away from her. "Go get your things. Better to pack up now and get it over with."

I stared at him. "You think just 'cuz I got a job that I'm going to leave you?" I demanded, starting to get angry. All that stress from the audition started to come up and I was suddenly boiling mad. "How could you think that! What kind of monster do you think I am?"

He stared at me, jaw slack. "Wh-"

I grabbed his arms and shook him. "You are my closest friend, Erik! You are the one that kept me safe all these years! Your music was what comforted me when my mother died! You gave me the confidence to sing in front of people!" I punched him in the arm. "Where in the WORLD do you get off thinking that I'm going to abandon you!?" I burst into tears and buried my face in his chest, hugging him tightly. "Don't ever think that again," I scolded. "You idiot."

Erik couldn't believe it. One second she was sad, the next she was angry, and now she was crying. He wrapped his arms around her hesitantly, and was gratified when she nestled closer to him. Even though her tone was angry and she'd actually hit him, she'd called him her closest friend. She'd promised not to abandon him.

He started to chuckle. "Only you," he said, pressing a kiss to her hair, "only you could be angry and heartfelt at the same time."

She gave a final sniff and rested her head on his shoulder. "I told you auditions were bad for me. Did I hurt you?"

"No." He gave her a teasing smile. "Do you think that a mere little blow would hurt the phantom of the opera?"

"I should hope not." She returned the smile, and sought his eyes out anxiously. "I meant what I said. I will not abandon you, Erik."

He cupped her cheek lightly, and rubbed away a tear with his thumb. "Promise?" he asked quietly.

"I promise."

He smiled at me, and I could see the relief in his eyes. "Well then," he said, stepping back, "shall we practice? You only have two days."

A wave of nerves hit me and I grabbed his arm again. "Oh no."

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I just realized what I did." I was turning pale. "I just got a job in an opera house."

"You've just now realized that?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

His eyes widened, alarmed, and he picked me up and put me in the nearest chair. "You will not," he said firmly. "You are perfectly fine. Take deep breaths."

I took a few deep breaths, breathing from my diaphragm, holding it, breathing out again. The nausea passed and I dropped my head back onto the chair. "Okay," I said breathlessly. "I think I'm okay." I started to get up, but he pushed me back gently.

"Stay here," he said, in his no-nonsense tone. "I'm going to make you a cup of tea and some toast, and then we're going to sit here and you're going to rest." He swept off to the kitchen in that grandiose manner of his.

I watched him fondly, and was startled when I heard a discreet cough. I turned, alarmed, and found a short, dark man coming in through one of the secret entrances.

"Mademoiselle Hale, I presume," he said, bowing.

I stared at him. "And you are...?" Something about him seemed familiar.

"Nadir Khan," he said, extending a hand.

"Oh," I said, smiling. Now I knew who he was. "Pleased to meet you, monsieur."

"Likewise."

"Nicole, who-" Erik came in with the tea set, saw Nadir, and positively bristled. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Can't an old friend drop in for a chat?"

"No."

"Well then," Nadir said, "I came to see Mlle. Hale, now that she's been introduced to society." He gave me a charming grin. "You are just as lovely as your portraits."

I blushed slightly. "You knew about me?"

"Of course," Nadir replied. "When Erik was in Persia, you were all he'd talk about in-" he stopped abruptly.

"In my drug-induced hazes?" Erik asked sharply. "She knows, Daroga."

I touched his arm lightly, took my cup of tea from him. "Thank you Erik."

He gave me a small smile and relaxed slightly.

Nadir watched the interactions between the two, and hid a grin behind his hand. They were so cute. But how could she be here in the first place? He hadn't really questioned it before, but this was a serious question.

He went home that evening and went through his extensive library. There was something in one of the old fairy tales that sounded like what had happened to Nicole. There it was. The Lovers Across Time. The woman lived in the past and dreamed of a man from the future. Their souls called to each other and when he found a relic from the past he was summoned to the time of his love. They fell in love, and lived out their days in the past. Their grandchildren were responsible for guarding the relic to send him back in the first place. The story was written by the great-great-grandson of the pair.

Nadir could not believe it. That's what had happened? A sort of time transference. He had always believed in soul mates; after all what were he and his wife except two halves of a whole, but traveling through time? He shrugged. Some things were too complicated.

"But it did happen," he muttered. That music box Nicole mentioned, that must have been the trigger. He had to tell them. But not now. They had enough on their plates.

I spent the next two days practically glued to Erik's side. We were both feeling the oncoming separation and he didn't even snap at me once during those days.

The third morning I woke up with a solid pit of nervousness in my gut. It was kind of like butterflies were sumo wrestling inside my stomach at the same time a black hole was forming. Not fun.

"Nicole? You up?"

"No." I curled up under the blankets. "I'm gone."

He came in, rolling his eyes. "Nicole, you need to go up and look at the cast list."

"You know who's on it, anyway, why should I?" I was determined to stall as long as possible.

"Nicole, you are expected to go out there."

"Nuh-uh."

"There's coffee," he said persuasively.

"I don't believe you."

He sat next to me on the bed. "You will have to get up sometime."

"I know." I stifled a yawn. "But it's too early."

He smiled down at me gently. "I suppose it is. You can have another hour or two."

"Thanks." I closed my eyes again, and heard Erik leave the room.

He resisted the urge to ruffle her hair as he left, and went to the kitchen instead to make breakfast. Even though she'd promised that she wasn't going to forget about him, he still worried. He didn't want to lose the only one who truly understood him. She had to come back for singing lessons anyway, and vocal exercises. Everything was going to be fine.

I was awakened by a thunderous crash on the organ. "Wh- Erik!" I half-leaped, half-fell out of bed and rushed out the door. "Are you all right?"

Erik smirked at me. "Good morning."

I groaned. "You are so mean."

"I got you up, did I not?" he retorted.

I went back into my room and got ready for the day. The sumo wrestling butterflies were back. I was so nervous and excited I couldn't even fix my hair. I braided it and pinned it up and left it like that. Thank goodness I didn't have to wear a corset. I would've died by now from lack of oxygen.

When I came out, Erik served us some crepes and coffee. "Now remember," he said, leading me up to the surface, "stay away from the stage hands, and the ballerinas who associate with the stage hands, and don't eat too many sweets, and for goodness' sake don't drink any wine. And if you feel sick or weak, do those breathing exercises we've been working on."

I stepped through the mirror into my room and turned to smile at him. "Yes, mother," I replied.

He grinned at me bashfully. "I apologize, Nicole. I am just nervous for you."

"Thank you, Erik, but I'm nervous enough for both of us." I took his hands. "Everything will be fine."

"That is my line," he retorted, squeezing my hands lightly.

I kissed his hands. "I'll see you later tonight, all right?"

He winked at me. "I will see you all day long," he retorted.

"Erik, I swear if you drop a spider on me I'll burn your library down, you hear me?" I threatened, even though we were both grinning.

He bowed deeply. "Understood, mademoiselle."

There was a soft knock on the door. "Nicole?" It was Mme. Giry.

"Coming, Madame!" I called.

"Break a leg" he said, before disappearing behind the mirror.

I met Mme. Giry and we joined the group of dancers, singers, and actors that were crowding around M. Reyer as he posted the cast list of the upcoming opera. "You look," I requested.

She rolled her eyes at me, parted the crowd with a simple tap of her staff like Moses parting the Red Sea, and we all followed behind her. She turned to me with a grin. "Congratulations, Nicole."

I looked at the cast list and nearly swooned. Nicole Hale, playing Countess Rosina Almaviva in The Marriage of Figaro. That was the lead. I got the lead. I took a deep breath as I was surrounded by cast members congratulating me, introducing themselves, welcoming me to the opera house, and expressing their well wishes and jealousy.

Erik watched proudly as Nicole maneuvered her way through the crowd graciously, and when M. Reyer gathered his actors to distribute the scripts and the lines, he followed them out to the stage.

Suffice to say, I had never worked harder in my life. We read through the entire script in one sitting, er, standing, and M. Reyer had us listen to the opening keys of the different arias to keep it in mind for tomorrow.

I dragged myself to my room and fell onto the bed. I was so tired I couldn't even move. But I had to go see Erik. I had promised. So I dragged myself to my feet and dragged myself to the lair. He wasn't there, off doing phantom-y stuff, so I sat down on the sofa to wait for him.

Erik returned from giving notes to the managers, and found Nicole sleeping soundly on the sofa. He grinned at the sight. She'd worked hard today, and she had still come back to him.

He left her there and went to make some tea and food. He brought her a cup of tea and touched her shoulder gently. "Nicole."

"Mmh?"

He shook her lightly. "Hungry?"

"G'way, ma."

He smirked. "I am not your mother."

She opened her eyes then and stared at him blearily for a second. "Oh. Erik, you're back. How'd I do for my first day?"

"Very well," he praised.

She hugged him. "You said something about food?"

I knew that operas were a lot of work, since I had a phantom's view of them since I was little, but in real life... we worked hard every day, learning lines, blocking, dancing, and then in the evening Erik would coach my singing, and in between that were costume fittings and learning people's names and making friends.

I made it a point to visit Erik at least once every other day. He took care of me too; during the day I could feel his gaze on me, either from Box 5 or the various catwalks. And of course, he kept up his pranks and "hauntings," driving everyone to distraction.

"Why do you do it?" I asked him once, after a ballet girl had passed out from finding slime mold in her pointe shoes. "And where did you even find a slime mold that big anyway?"

He smirked. "They have to know that they must give their full cooperation. That ballet rat was not paying attention or taking her routine seriously."

"Rehearsals just started, Erik, no one knows their lines."

"That is no excuse."

I rolled my eyes. "All right, Mr. Perfectionist, shall we start our singing lesson then?"

"I thought we might do something else this evening," Erik replied, clearing his throat slightly. "Give your voice a rest."

"What are we doing?"

He held up a basket. "Picnic on the roof. Shall we?"

The view from the roof was always incredible, no matter what time of year, what time of day or night, or what kind of weather it was. And tonight it was no exception. There were some clouds, but it was mostly stars and street lights lighting up every corner of Paris.

"The City of Lights," I said dreamily, leaning on the wall and looking out over the streets. "Even more romantic in the 18th century."

Erik choked on his sip of wine. "Romantic?" he said, turning a deep shade of red. Thank goodness it was dark.

She blushed as well. "Well, I mean, for somebody out there. Just imagine it, a young couple in love, walking along the banks of the river, completely oblivious to everyone else." She sighed happily.

He went to stand beside her. "A scenario I will never experience firsthand," he said, somewhat bitterly.

She glanced at him. "Yes you will."

"Who would love a monster like me?" he asked, staring out at the sky.

Nicole leaned on his arm. "What part of 'You Are Not a Monster' do you not understand?" she asked. "If I can see you as a true man, then so will some other woman."

"But no one would bother," he said. "As soon as they see this," he pointed to his mask, "they fear me. And what's underneath it, even more."

I frowned at him. "It's really not that bad."

"Thank you for saying so, but you are a liar."

"You are a drama queen."

He scowled at me. "I know what I am, Nicole."

"No, I don't think you do."

"Who are you to make such a judgment?" he snapped, jerking his arm away from me.

"Your friend, I thought," I retorted, glaring at him.

He dropped his head. "Forgive me," he said. "I didn't mean…" he trailed off. "You are my longest, truest, best, friend," he said, reaching a hand out to me tentatively. "You know me better than I know myself. I just forget that sometimes."

I took his hand, and the apology, with a brief smile. "We all forget, sometimes." I shivered as a drop of rain landed on my head. "Oh no! The food!"

We gathered the food and the blanket hurriedly and ran to the door, just missing getting drenched as rain began to pour down. "There goes our picnic," he said wryly. "Let's go back and get dry."

I plucked the last of the croissants from the basket and took a bite out of it. "No sense letting it go to waste," I said, at Erik's raised eyebrow.

Erik walked Nicole back to her room and returned to the lair. He was tired, but he felt like singing. Every time Nicole came to see him and spend time with him, he felt like singing. He sat at the piano and started to play, one of the songs from Nicole's time running through his head. It was called 'In her Eyes', by Josh Groban. The song seemed to express his sentiments precisely, and at the end, he trailed off wistfully.

"Love?" a voice asked knowingly.

Erik froze, and whirled to face the intruder. "Shouldn't you be asleep?" he demanded.

Mme. Giry only smiled mysteriously. "I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"You love her."

"Those are the words of the song, Madame, I didn't make them up," he said sharply. "Now is there a reason for your presence or are you sleepwalking?"

She held up her hands in a gesture of peace. "I only came to check up on you. But I can see you are absolutely fine. Good night Erik."

"Good night," he said stiffly.

The next day when I went to see Erik, he refused to look me in the eye and he was very abrupt. "What is _up_ with you, dude?" I finally asked, annoyed when he didn't want to play the piano with me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said briefly.

I scowled at him. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," he repeated, avoiding my eyes.

I stared at him. He was really upset. "You're starting to scare me," I said. "Tell me, please. Did something happen? Are you all right?"

He cracked a small smile at that. "It truly is nothing, Nicole. I'm only thinking of something. I apologize."

I hugged him briefly. "Will you sing with me, then?"

"What do you want to sing?"

I yawned. "I don't know. I just do."

He rolled his eyes. "What you really need to do is sleep, Nicole. M. Reyer has been working you much too hard in rehearsals."

"Only at the request of a certain ghost," I retorted good-naturedly. "You are the perfectionist after all."

He held out a hand to me, and led me to the sofa. "I request that you rest, then," he said, sitting at the piano. "Let me play for you."

I closed my eyes as he started to play a soft melody in Italian. His voice was so beautiful...

Erik sang until she fell asleep, and he smiled at Nicole's peaceful expression. She looked like an angel laying there, completely at peace.

She shivered, suddenly, and he draped his cloak over her. He couldn't help letting his fingers brush her cheek lightly. She smiled faintly in her sleep and sighed, snuggling into his cloak.

He returned to the piano, but he didn't play anything for fear of waking her. She really had been working hard and she needed her rest for tomorrow's dress rehearsal.

He went to his desk instead and began to work on his latest composition, humming softly, genuinely happy with Nicole's reassuring presence by his side.

I woke up the next morning deliciously warm and comfortable. When I opened my eyes I realized I was still on the sofa, wrapped in Erik's cloak. It smelled like him, like candlewax and roses, and that faint hint of aftershave. I contemplated going back to sleep but the clock chimed, and I realized it was 7 o'clock.

I bolted off the sofa and looked around for Erik to say goodbye. I saw where he was, and grinned.

He was slumped over at his desk, sound asleep, his cheek resting on his latest work, his mask an arm's length away.

I went over to him and draped his cloak over his broad shoulders. I couldn't help letting my fingers run through his hair lightly.

He let out a sigh, and whispered, "Nicole..."

I blushed bright red at being caught, but he was still asleep. Was he dreaming of me? I turned another shade of crimson. He didn't wake up, though. Feeling brave, I leaned over, and kissed his scarred cheek lightly. "See you around, Erik."

Erik woke up feeling refreshed and happy. He'd had a wonderful dream about Nicole, that she'd told him she loved him, that she'd kissed him. He wondered what that would feel like. Of course she'd kissed him on the cheek before, she was very affectionate to her friends. She hugged and kissed him, Mme. Giry, little Giry and little Miss Daae. A select few that made him smile to think about.

He glanced over at the couch and realized she was gone. Of course she was gone. It was late. He'd slept in. He swept his cloak off - she'd given it back - and buried his nose in the fabric. It smelled like her, a hint of lavender and soap.

He sighed. He didn't know how he could continue to see her without confessing his love. How could she love a man like him? She deserved the world, not a cave. The limelight, not a mask.

His good mood gone, he went to bathe and change. The Phantom of the Opera had to check in on rehearsals.

I didn't have a chance to see Erik for the next two days. The closer we got to opening night, the busier we were, and the more nervous I grew about my debut. Every time I thought about it I felt queasy.

"Mademoiselle Hale?" A voice broke through my thoughts and I turned to meet them. It was a young man who was smiling at me.

"Yes?" I asked cautiously.

"I saw you in rehearsal today and could not resist coming over to see you," he said, bowing. "You sing like an angel, mlle."

"Thank you?" I said uncertainly, my ears turning red. "Excuse me, sir, but who are you?"

"Oh, I beg your pardon. My manners have gone right out the window." He bowed again. "William Hartford, at your service, miss."

And that's when I realized we were talking in English. "You're English!" I gasped.

"Indeed," he said.

I grinned widely. "I haven't heard English spoken in months!"

"Nor have I heard American," he retorted lightly.

We grinned at each other, and then another man came around the corner. It was the patron of the opera, Monsieur Duval. "Ah, William, there you are. You've found Mlle. Hale, I see." He smiled at me. "My nephew here could not stop singing your praises," he said in a confidential tone. "He simply had to meet you."

I blushed. "Thank you, monsieur."

William nodded to his uncle. "I'll be along in a moment."

"Very well. See you on opening night, Mlle." He bowed to me and walked away.

"I'm visiting my uncle for the next few months," William explained. "Um, would you, would you like to go to dinner with me tomorrow?"

I wanted to say yes, goodness knows I wanted to hear English even if it was accented oddly, but I knew that Erik would throw a fit if I took an evening off so close to opening night. "I would like that, but I do have a lot of thing to do. We're only a week away from opening night."

"I understand," he said, his face falling only a little. "Afterwards, perhaps?"

"Maybe."

He took my hand and kissed the back of it. "Until opening night, mademoiselle." And he walked away.

I smiled all the way to my room, ready to take off my shoes and relax, but as soon as I entered my room, I was grabbed by a strong hand and hauled off through the mirror. "Erik?" I asked, startled. "What-"

"That insolent boy!" he growled, gripping me tighter and walking faster. "You will not speak to him again!"

"Why not?" I demanded, digging in my heels.

"He will distract you from your singing," he said. "And you will ruin your voice if you stay out late."

"I stay up late with you all the time," I said.

"With _me_ ," he emphasized. "Not with a stranger. Just because he's English doesn't mean he is a friend."

I raised an eyebrow at him in the dim light. "Are you jealous?"

He stiffened. "I am not jealous of that fool."

"It sounds like you are."

He stopped so abruptly, I had to turn to face him to keep my arm attached to my shoulder. "I am not," he said fiercely. "You promised you wouldn't abandon me. I am merely seeing to it that you don't."

To his infinite chagrin, his voice wobbled on the last words, and he turned away from her. He knew she would get mad, yell at him, but he couldn't help his actions. When he'd seen her smiling at that idiot Englishman his emotions had risen up full force; panic and jealousy rising to the front, panic that she would be taken away, that she'd fall in love with some handsome young man and leave him here alone, in the dark. "Nicole, please," he whispered, before he could stop himself.

She only stared at him the dim light, her eyes filling up with tears.

He realized he was probably bruising her arm with how tightly he was holding her. "I'm sorry," he said, letting go of her like she'd burned him. "Just, leave me." He dropped his hand to his side.

I reached out to grab his arm this time, my tears making my voice wobbly. "Erik, wait."

He froze, and looked back at me, equal parts hopeful and hopeless.

"What will it take for you to realize I'm not going to run away?" I asked quietly, stepping closer to him. "I'm not going to fall in love with the first rich man who comes along. What would it take, Erik?" I needed to know, I needed _him_ to know. I took another step closer.

"I don't know," he admitted, still frozen, terrified.

"Do you want me to move back down to the lair? Refuse all visitors?" I continued, taking another step closer. We were so close; I could see his features plainly in the torchlight. I reached out to touch his mask, removed it with gentle fingers, and cupped his scarred cheek. "What do you want me to do, Erik?"

He could only look at me.

I looked back at him, and realized how close we were to each other. Another inch and I could kiss him on the lips. I had wanted to kiss him for a while now. But I couldn't make a move unless I knew how he felt. I leaned forward another half inch. "Well?" I asked, breathless. If I had to stand here all night, I would.

I didn't have to.

He tilted his head forward that last half inch and kissed me. It was awkward, but it was enough.

I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. I kissed him again, and then I kissed the tears that were running down his face. "Don't cry," I said softly, even though my own cheeks were wet with tears. "I love you."

"I love you," he choked breathlessly.

I pulled him into a hug, and he buried his face in my shoulder, and I did the same. Finally, finally, it was out in the open, and our relationship was no longer casual. The man in my dreams was the man of my dreams, and I was holding him as he wept with joy.

Joy, relief, gratitude, sheer happiness, all these things Erik had never thought were possible were running through his head and he could do nothing but hold Nicole tightly and thank whatever deity was out there that this had happened. She'd kissed him. She'd kissed him, the Devil's child, and hadn't died or run away. She'd kissed him twice, and promised to stay.

"I love you," he whispered again, into her shoulder, hoping she'd reply.

"I love you too," came the response, the three words he'd never thought he'd hear.

Finally, after a while, he regained his composure, and stepped away from her slightly, his hand covering his unmasked face out of habit.

She handed him the mask with a reassuring smile and waited till he put it on.

"Shall we get out of this hallway?" he asked, holding out a hand to her.

She took it instantly. "Definitely."

They walked on air to the cave, and sat on the sofa. Nicole immediately curled up next to him and nestled under his arm. He pulled her closer and felt a warm fuzzy feeling invade his chest. "Suffice to say, you are not going to see that fop."

She laughed. "You _were_ jealous. I knew it."

He silenced her with another kiss. He could rapidly grow addicted to this...

I made us some dinner after a few more kisses, and we ate in contented silence, holding hands across the small table. He was rubbing his thumb over my knuckles, and I couldn't help but smile at the affectionate gesture.

"What?" he asked, smiling as well.

I shook my head, unable to explain the feeling. "I don't know. I'm just so happy."

His smile widened.

We finished dinner and I went back up to my room. Opening night was only a week away and I couldn't stay up late, not if I wanted to do my best. But I couldn't sleep a wink. All I could think about was Erik, and all I could do was grin.


	6. Chapter 6

With opening night less than a week away, the two didn't have hardly a moment to spare. But whatever moments they did have, they were deliriously happy, secure in the knowledge that they loved each other.

Mme. Giry noticed the change immediately the next day, and dragged Nicole to a secluded spot. "Why are you floating?" she demanded excitedly. "What happened?"

"He kissed me," Nicole said dreamily. "He loves me, Mme."

"And do you love him?" Mme. Giry asked, even though the answer was obvious. She still had to make sure.

"Yes, always," Nicole said happily.

Mme. Giry smiled and gave her a brief hug. "I'm happy for you both."

"Thank you."

"Now, back to rehearsals. And try not to bump into the rafters with your head in the clouds, please, mille?"

Nicole blushed. "Right."

Then before I knew it, it was opening night - and I was a quivering mess. All my nerves had come back full force, and I had already thrown up three times and hyperventilated twice. I couldn't leave my room, and my stomach ached, and I was getting a migraine.

"I can't do it," I told Mme. Giry pitifully.

She smoothed my hair lightly. "Wait here," she said, and left the room.

I curled up in a ball and ignored the rest of the world, until I felt a cool hand touch my forehead. "Mon ange," Erik whispered, kneeling next to the bed, "it is time to get ready."

"I can't."

"Yes you can," he said soothingly, persuasively. "You sang at your audition, you sang through rehearsals, you sang for the whole cast and crew. You can do this, ma cherie."

I held up a hand. I was trembling visibly. "I literally cannot."

"Yes you can," he said. "Sing for me, like all the other times. I will be there the whole time, watching you from Box 5, even closer if I can."

That didn't help my nerves. Knowing that he would be watching my first public performance made me want to throw up again, especially now that I knew he loved me. If I disappointed him... I dry-heaved, but there was nothing left in my stomach.

He rubbed my back and murmured soothingly, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "What would make it better?" he asked quietly. "What can I do?"

"Kiss?" I asked hopefully.

He bent his head obligingly and kissed me until I had completely forgotten about the rest of the world. "Feel better?" he asked.

"Mm," I said dreamily. "If only you could do that through the whole opera."

"I will," he said. "Every time you're off stage I'll kiss you senseless. I promise you'll be completely oblivious to any audience."

"Promise you won't be disappointed if I pass out on stage?"

"I will never be disappointed with you," he promised, giving me another light kiss. "Now, go on to makeup."

I took a deep breath and stood up shakily. "Okay. Here we go."

He walked me to the door, and I felt his presence all the way to makeup and wardrobe.

Before I knew it, I was in costume, my face painted, heavy on the blush to offset my paleness, and I was standing in the wings with the rest of the cast, quivering like a blob of Jell-O.

"Break a leg," someone whispered, and the sentiment was echoed throughout.

The orchestra started, and then we were on.

The entire thing, frankly, was a blur of singing and moving, flirting with the audience, and in between scenes, Erik would hold me and whisper encouragements. And one small reprimand. "Stand up straight," he whispered, pressing a hand to my shoulder blades lightly.

"You stand up straight with twenty pounds of fake hair on," I retorted playfully.

He rolled his eyes. "Go on."

And then before I knew it, the show was over, and we were standing on stage, and the audience was giving us a standing ovation. We were hustled off stage and I hurried my way to my dressing room, ignoring the pleas for attention by some of the audience.

I slammed the door and leaned on it with a sigh. "Thank goodness."

A chuckle greeted me. "Overwhelmed?" Erik asked me, emerging from the shadows. He offered me a long-stemmed red rose, thorns stripped, a black ribbon tied elegantly on it. "Congratulations."

I smiled at him and accepted the rose. "Thank you Erik, it's lovely."

"You deserve it," he said. "You were amazing."

I blushed. "Thanks. Hold on a minute." I went behind the changing screen and changed into a loose nightgown and my fluffy robe. Now that I was safe in my room, all the adrenaline was gone and I felt like passing out. I lay down on the bed. "Wow." I closed my eyes. I could fall asleep right now if I wanted to.

"Nicole?" A soft touch on my forehead. "Are you well?"

"Mm-hmm."

He kissed my forehead. "You were a true angel tonight, mon ange. You sang amazingly."

"I did, didn't I?" I stared up at him, wide-eyed. "I actually did it." I giggled, half-delirious. "I actually sang in front of an audience, a real audience, and didn't pass out. I can't believe it."

"Believe it," he said, smiling at me. "You have taken the opera world by storm, Nicole."

I groaned. "That means I'm going to have to do it again, doesn't it?"

"Tomorrow night," he said, amused. "And another two months."

I groaned. "I don't think I'm going to make it."

He laughed and touched my cheek lightly. "You will be fine, Nicole."

I reached out to touch his cheek lightly. "Thank you for helping me get through this, Erik."

"It was my pleasure," he said, grinning at me.

I blushed. "Shut up."

Erik left her soon after that, and went to see Mme. Giry. "Well?" he asked. "What did you think of my pupil?"

She smiled at him, a full, happy smile. "She sang beautifully, Erik. You must be very proud of her."

"Yes."

She grinned knowingly. "And very in love with her?" she questioned.

He couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips. "She told you?"

"And I can see it in your face," Mme. Giry said. "You are happy." She touched him arm lightly. "I'm glad for you."

He nodded stiffly, unused to smiling at anyone but Nicole. "Thank you, Antoinette. I only hope I am worthy of her affections."

"So far you have been," she said. "You've changed into a good man, for her. Just keep doing so."

"I'll try."

The next day I didn't wake up until it was almost time to get back into makeup. I rolled out of bed, put on a dressing gown, and staggered my way to makeup and wardrobe. Someone shoved a plate of food in my hand while I was getting made up, and I scarfed it down before I got in costume.

Before I knew it, we were in the wings, and I was on stage. I had two seconds of absolute panic, and then somehow, my mouth opened, and I was singing.

I went through the whole opera, my heart beating like a trip hammer, and as soon as it was over I went back to my room. "I don't know if I can take a whole career out of this," I said faintly, collapsing on my bed.

A very familiar weight sat on the edge of the bed. "One day at a time, mon cheri," Erik's gentle voice said, smoothing my hair. "Why don't you go to bed?"

I smiled up at him. "I am in bed, silly."

He rolled his eyes at me. "And you're going to stay in that uncomfortable dress all night?"

"Weeeellll... no. I guess not." I rolled out of bed and stood up. "Good night, Erik."

"Good night," he said stiffly, his hand moving up to touch my cheek. He stopped halfway and dropped his hand awkwardly.

I smiled at him gently. "You didn't want to finish that movement, dear?"

His face reddened slightly but he didn't move.

I reached up to touch his cheek lightly. "You can kiss me, you know, Erik. You don't have to wait for me to kiss you first."

"You don't mind?" he asked.

"Not at all." I smiled at him reassuringly. "And besides, you'd think I would've said something by now if I didn't like it."

He grinned slightly. "I suppose so." He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. "Good night, my love."

"Good night, Erik." I watched as he disappeared behind the mirror into the tunnel.

Erik made sure she fell peacefully asleep before he returned to his home, his steps light and his grin wide.

"Well you look happy," Nadir said, popping up from the couch. "Where've you been?"

"At the opera," Erik said, scowling at his friend. "What are you doing here?"

Nadir held up a book. "I have something to show you."

"What?"

"Read it."

Erik sat down and read the story of the Lovers Across Time. He didn't say a word as he read it, and afterwards he could only stare at the book, his brow furrowed.

"Well?" Nadir asked impatiently. "What do you think?"

Erik was silent for a long while. And then, to Nadir's surprise, he started to smile. A huge, ear to ear smile that made his eyes twinkle. "Then this is truly meant to be," he said. "She is truly meant to be here with me."

"Yes she is."

Erik stood up decisively. "I need to go out. Nadir, if you would like to come with me, you may do so."

"Where are we going?"

"To buy a ring."

Nadir's jaw dropped. "You're going to propose to her?"

"Of course I am. To do otherwise would not be honorable."

"Of course, of course." Nadir clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm happy for you, Erik."

"Thank you."

I didn't see Erik for two days, which was fine since I had plenty of work to do. One of my costumes had ripped and needed to be refitted, and M. Reyer wanted us to work on tightening up a dance routine.

And then one evening, while I was practicing alone on stage, red and white rose petals began to rain down from the rafters. I looked up curiously. Only one person would do that. "Erik?" I asked uncertainly.

" _Nicole_ ," he sang softly.

The rain of petals began to move offstage. I followed the flower shower all the way down to the lair. At each turn or secret wall I found a perfect red long-stemmed rose. By the time I got to the lair, I had a dozen roses in my hands and flower petals in my hair. "Erik?" I asked curiously, glancing around the candlelit room.

"Nicole," he said, appearing from thin air. He bowed formally and kissed my hand.

I blushed at the uncommon gesture. "What's the occasion?" I asked.

"I love you" he said simply, "and I wanted to give you this." He knelt before me and held out a black velvet box.

I stared at him. "Wh-" I couldn't even speak; I was so surprised.

"I have known you since I was a child," he started, his eyes glowing with emotion.

"Wait," I said, smiling tearfully. "If you're doing what I think you're doing; I want to see your whole face." I reached out and carefully removing his mask, caressing his cheek lightly.

He swallowed hard and continued. "You were the only good part of my childhood and my youth, and then when you appeared on that roof, you were my dream come to life. I fell in love with you, Nicole. Your voice, your mind, your smile, even your slouch. Will you be my waking dream for the rest of my life, Nicole? Will you marry me?"

"Yes, yes," I said, kissing him, crying tears of joy. "Of course I will."

He beamed at me and slipped the ring on my finger. It was a beautiful silver ring with intricate settings, sprinkled with tiny diamonds around a single larger stone.

"It's beautiful," I said, smiling at the sight of it on my hand.

"I knew you'd like it." He stood up and replaced his mask. He was still uncomfortable without it, but we were slowly working on it.

I kissed him lightly. "I love you."

"I love you too mon Ange." He pulled me over to sit beside him on the piano bench. "Sing with me?" He started the intro to one of the songs from the future, by Josh Groban, and launched into the song with his haunting tenor. At the last pause, he kissed me lightly.

I smiled at him and continued the song for the next two verses.

We finished the song together, soprano and tenor blending in perfect harmony, the notes bouncing off the cave wall.

We smiled at each other and kissed each other. "I love you," I said.

"I love you too," he replied, "Come, ma cherie, you should go back up. It's late. You have rehearsals tomorrow."

I sighed, but it was true.

We walked up to the room and he pulled me in for a last goodnight kiss. "See you tomorrow?" I asked.

"You can count on it," he said, kissing me again lightly. "Good night, my love."

I got in bed and smiled into the darkness, staring at my ring. I was never going to take it off.

Erik returned to his lair, his heart soaring with pure joy. He went to the organ and began to play his heart out. He could not believe that she'd said yes. He would not be alone anymore. Now he had someone to love, to protect, to care for. And she would care for him in return. He sighed, deliriously happy.

I woke up the next day with a smile on my face. I spent a few minutes just lying in bed, smiling at my ring. But I was going to have to take it off. If anyone saw it, they were going to ask questions that I wouldn't be able to answer.

"Sorry dear," I said, taking the ring off my finger and stringing it on a silver necklace chain. It fell right below the collar of my dress so no one would see it. I kissed the ring and let it drop. Time to go.

I went to rehearsals, and while the ballet was practicing I stood off to the side, watching. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. "Where's your ring?" Erik asked quietly, from the shadows.

"Right here." I turned to him and held it up. "I didn't want anyone to ask questions."

He smiled. "Good plan."

"Mlle. Hale?" Reyer asked. "Can we go over your blocking for this scene?"

"That's me," I said, smiling. I felt a feather light caress on my cheek as I walked away, and I couldn't help grinning.

That evening, I went down to see Erik and have dinner with him. We were eating quietly, and then suddenly he said, "Marry me."

I smiled at him. "I already said yes, Erik."

"No, I mean tonight."

I gaped at him. "What? Right now?"

"Yes." He took my hands in his. "We could elope. Right now. Just the two of us. There's a priest outside Paris that could marry us, and we could be back here by morning." He kissed me lightly. "Why should we wait? No one knows I exist, we wouldn't have a traditional wedding anyway. And this way we could be together." He gave me a pleading look.

"I..." I was desperately trying to find a reason to get him to be reasonable, but I couldn't. There was literally no reason to wait. I wasn't going to change my mind, he wasn't going to, there was no reason to prolong our engagement. "Sure. Why not?"

He kissed me again. "Perfect. Come. We will go now."

So they were married. Mme. Giry and Nadir were their witnesses, and while neither of them were happy about being woken up in the middle of the night, they were both happy to see Erik taking this step.

"I now pronounce you man and wife."

Erik kissed Nicole lightly, mindful of the priest, and the four of them made their way out to the cold night air. Nadir took a carriage back to his house, offering to drop Mme. Giry on the way, and Erik and Nicole went in a different carriage to the opera house.

They were silent on the way home, exchanging only smiles and kisses, mindful of the driver. And when they got back to Erik's lair, their home now, the first order of business was to rebuild the fire and reheat dinner, which they'd never gotten around to eating.

"I can't believe we're married," Nicole said, after a moment, smiling at him. "I never thought I would call anyone my husband."

"And yet here we are, my wife," he said, reaching for her hand and kissing her knuckles suavely.

She shifted over to sit next to him, and he wrapped his arms around her. "I love you, Erik."

"I love you, too, mon Ange," he said, kissing her deeply. "Always and forever."

The next morning, I awoke in the arms of my husband, completely and utterly content. I stretched lightly and yawned, turning to face him.

He was already awake and watching me, a lazy smile on his lips. "Good morning."

I leaned up to kiss him lightly. "Good morning, my love. How long have you been awake?"

"About ten minutes."

"Hm, watching me sleep, were you?" I asked teasingly.

"Admiring your beauty," he said frankly, running his eyes over me. He leaned over to kiss my forehead. "And that cute little scrunch in your forehead when you're dreaming."

I rested my head on his chest, and closed my eyes again as he stroked my hair, humming a soft tune. "Nicole?" he said softly, after a moment.

"Hm?"

"Are you going to rehearsals today?"

"No, I already told Mme. Giry yesterday," I said, tracing the pattern of scars on his shoulder. I remembered the dream from when he got them - that was a bad nightmare. I noticed he had gotten tense, and bent my head slightly to kiss the scars. "Do you know what I love about you, Erik?" I asked, moving to kiss another scar on his chest.

"What?" he asked, watching me warily.

I rubbed at his shoulders comfortingly. "Every single part of you." I kissed his scarred cheek. "Every scar, every burn, every blemished or unblemished part of you." I kissed his eyes, which had suddenly filled with tears. "For me, you are perfect, my love."

He pulled her to his chest and held her close, trying to overcome his sudden emotion. He could not believe how fortunate he was to have her in his life, in his arms, free to love her for the rest of his life.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Chapter Seven! Married life! Gossip! Jealousy! Nightmares! Too much caffeine!**

We didn't leave the lair for three days. We wanted to make it an entire week, but both common sense and the upcoming performance made it impossible. So four days after becoming a married woman, I returned to the opera house.

"Where've you been?" my fellow actors asked me.

I gave them all a grin. "Oh, you know. Busy."

Of course the fact I was married didn't help my stage fright. Before and after every performance was still a nightmare of nerves. But I was famous, and people were noticing me. Especially the men.

"You are a beautiful young woman," Mme. Giry told me, after I'd hidden in her office from some admirers. "There's nothing you can do about it."

"Yes, well, it's got to stop. He came this close to strangling someone the other day who wouldn't take no for an answer."

"And I would have, too," Erik grumbled, appearing from the wall, phantom-like. "You are mine."

"I know that. They don't." I kissed him lightly.

"You should've thought of that before you made her marry a ghost," Mme. Giry said, rolling her eyes. "Now you will just have to endure the jealousy."

Erik scowled.

He was going to have to do something about all those potential suitors. Everyone wanted to have dinner with the Opera Populaire's newest star, and it was, honestly, driving Erik mad. So one day, after a performance when Nicole was trying to get through her crush of fans, he did what he did best. Something dramatic.

"STAY AWAY FROM MY SOPRANO!" he bellowed, letting the echoes ring out around nearly the entire opera house.

Everyone froze, and Nicole turned pale. "What-" she started.

"DO NOT DARE DISRUPT THE PURITY OF THE MUSIC," Erik continued, in his best commanding tone. "OR YOU WILL FACE THE WRATH OF THE OPERA GHOST."

He watched in satisfaction as people began to murmur quietly, fear on their faces. "Who's there?" one of the braver men asked.

"GO!" the Phantom bellowed.

The masses fled, the ballet rats were marched away by Mme. Giry, and the rest of the actors stared uneasily at Nicole. She stared back at them, white as a sheet. "I don't," she started, "I, I'm, good night." She fled to her room.

I closed the door and locked it behind me. "Erik!" I yelled. "I'm going to KILL you!"

He appeared from behind the mirror, smiling innocently. "Yes dearest?"

I slapped his arm. "What was that about?"

"You were uncomfortable," he said persuasively. "Now no one will bother you."

"Uh-huh." I raised an eyebrow at him teasingly. "So you aren't insanely jealous?"

"Well, that too," he said, catching me around the waist and kissing me lightly. "You are mine, and now everyone knows it."

"I ought to be annoyed that you've laid claim to me," I said, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "But, it's actually kind of hot."

He honest-to-goodness blushed. "Well," he stuttered.

I smirked. "What do you think people are going to say? Just think about all the rumors."

He shrugged. "Let them talk."

We spent the night in my room, in case anyone took it into their head to check on me after the phantom scare.

Mme. Giry came to my room early. "Nicole?" she asked, knocking lightly on the door.

I groaned and sat up as Erik fled through the mirror. "Madame Giry," I said, pulling on a robe as I opened the door.

"Madame," she replied, smiling at me knowingly. "Are you alone?"

"More or less."

"Erik."

He came out of the secret passage reluctantly. "Yes?"

"Do you know what you've done with that little stunt last night?" she asked. "Do you know what people are saying?"

"What?"

Now that I was awake, I noticed his rumpled appearance and his adorable case of bed head. I stifled a giggle at Mme. Giry's glance. This must be actually serious.

"They are saying that she is your mistress, that she slept her way into the lead soprano position. That you are obsessed with her, that you would kill anyone getting close to her."

"Well they're not wrong," Erik mused.

I glared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Except the first one," he said hastily. "You earned that lead."

"I know I did," I said. "They ought to know it too."

"But they will say anything," Mme. Giry reminded us. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," Erik admitted.

I sighed. "Well, there goes my reputation."

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "I truly am sorry."

"I know."

We stood there in silence for a moment, thinking, and I wondered what they would think if they knew I was actually married to him. I started to grin. "What if…"

"What?"

"What if we actually told them the truth? Exaggerated it a bit, but let them know?"

"How do you mean?" Mme. Giry asked.

"Well we could tell them yes, that as soon as I came here, the phantom noticed me. He dragged me down to the lair, seduced me with his music and his voice. That he became obsessed with fine-tuning my talents. I could tell them of your genius, your music, your true self, your phantom talents. That you helped me conquer my stage fright. They know I'm a basket case anyway, yet I can perform. I can tell them that yes, we were married, and that you're insanely jealous, that I'm madly in love with you."

"And it is implied that you can control him," Mme. Giry said, "placate him. And that you are untouchable, because he is always watching."

"Absolute control," I agreed.

Erik kissed me lightly. "You are a true genius, my love."

I grinned. "I know."

Mme. Giry left, then, and I got ready for the day. Well, I tried to. Erik was distracting me. "I have to go to work you know," I said, trying to pull away from him.

"I know," he said, stepping close again and pressing a kiss to my neck. "But you don't have to go right this minute."

"I want breakfast," I said, stepping back again.

He pouted at me.

I smirked. "You know it's going to be really hard to tell people you're mysterious if you're being cute."

He raised an eyebrow and threw his voice to come from behind me. "I can be mysterious, if you'd like."

I shivered. "No thank you." I gave him a light kiss and headed for the door. "See you later."

Erik followed from the shadows as Nicole headed for the dining hall. He noticed with a scowl that as soon as she entered, people began whispering and making faces.

She noticed too, and took the initiative by tapping on a water glass. "Excuse me!" she called, silencing the gossipers. "I'd like to say now, while most everyone is here, that yes, I am acquainted with the Opera Ghost."

Everyone stared at her.

"How?" someone asked, one of the stagehands.

So right there, Nicole began to spin her tale of intrigue and obsession. Erik was impressed with her storytelling skills, and he noticed that the entire crowd in the dining room was practically eating out of the palm of her hand.

"Is he a monster? Does he even have a face?"

"Yes. One half is beautiful and unmarked, the other is scarred and deformed from birth. But he is quite handsome in his own way."

"How did you escape his lair to come up here?" someone asked.

"I haven't," Nicole replied mysteriously. "Every night he brings me back down. You see, I married him. I belong to him, now." She held up her ring on the necklace.

Everyone gasped. "So you know the way down to his lair?" another stage hand asked.

She shook her head. "He hypnotizes me with his voice - I don't know any of the secret passages. He is just as much as a ghost to me as to you."

"But is he a good kisser?" asked one of the more liberal ballet rats.

Nicole grinned and her eyes glazed over. "Yes," she said dreamily. "He is quite a good kisser."

In the shadows, Erik turned red.

"It's remarkable how soon a tale can go from horrific to romantic," I mused that evening. "Yesterday it was all 'he's a monster she's a loose woman,' and now they're all 'he's a misunderstood genius and she's a captivated soul, isn't it beautiful'."

Erik smiled and kissed me lightly. "Not to mention that ticket sales have gone through the roof. The managers are calling you the Phantom's Soprano."

"I like a good title," I said, grinning. "And, no more annoying suitors."

He kissed me again. "That, I believe, is the best part."

The next day was Monday, and since the entire opera house had the day off, Erik stole me away for a day in the countryside. He 'borrowed' a carriage from the stables, and I packed a picnic. We stopped under a large oak tree, and spread out a blanket to enjoy our lunch. I made him take off his mask, to get the fresh air on his face. We ate, and then took a nap together, my head on his shoulder. It wasn't really sleeping; it was more like a light doze.

"Nicole?" the soft whisper made me open my eyes and look up at him.

"Yes dear?" I asked, sitting up.

"It's time to be heading back, don't you think?"

"I suppose," I said. I touched his scarred cheek lightly. "You know your face actually looks much better."

He raised an eyebrow at me, his hand coming up to cover his face out of habit.

I pushed it down again gently, tracing the lines and the bumps. "I think it's all the exposure to fresh air and light," I continued, placing a kiss on his cheek. "It's healing, finally, instead of being rubbed raw by your mask. You ought to wear it less."

He still looked terribly vulnerable, so I handed him the mask and helped him smooth his hair. "Thank you," he said softly, and I knew he wasn't talking about the mask.

" _Filthy monster!" The man in his dreams started to beat him at the sight of his face. "You should have died at birth!"_

 _Erik cringed away, trying to curl up into a ball, hiding his face. He could hear the others jeering at him from outside the filthy cage, and felt rage boil up inside him. With a feral growl, he launched himself at the man, punching and kicking, screaming at him. He managed to grab onto his throat and squeezed, his eyes growing dark as he watched the man go limp._

It was two in the morning when Erik began to twitch and mutter in his sleep. I recognized the signs of a nightmare and reached over to tap him on the shoulder. "Erik?"

He jerked away from me violently and curled up into a little ball, whimpering.

I felt my heart break at the sight, and rubbed his back lightly. "Erik, wake up. It's only a dream."

Suddenly he turned on me, eyes wide open but unseeing, and he grabbed my throat in his powerful hands. He growled something at me unintelligibly and I scrabbled for purchase against his grip. "Erik!" I choked out, terrified. "Erik wake up!"

He squeezed tighter and I felt my vision going fuzzy. I was going to pass out, I couldn't push him away.

"Erik, please," I begged, tears running down my cheeks as I ran out of air.

Suddenly he gasped and his eyes truly registered what he was seeing. He let go of me like I'd burned him, and I gasped for air. I turned over on my side and tried to catch my breath, going dizzy from the sweet oxygen as the specks faded from my eyes.

He retreated all the way across the bed, staring at me in horror.

I fell back onto the pillows, still breathing heavily. "Erik, are you all right?" I asked, noticing he hadn't moved at all.

He couldn't even meet my eyes.

I scooted closer to him. "Erik?"

"No," he said, moving further away from me. "Stay away from me, I'm dangerous."

"Erik, I'm fine," I said, reaching out to touch his arm.

"No you're not," he said, his voice breaking. "I hurt you."

"You were dreaming, it's all right," I said soothingly.

"No, it's not," he said, self-loathing filling his face. "You, you should go back up to your room." He practically ran out of the room.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, still shaky. I wiped the tears from my cheeks but they kept coming down. I had never had direct experience with his nightmares before, he hadn't had any since we'd been married. And now it was like he didn't even want to be comforted. I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head. No. Erik was just trying to protect me, and pushing people away was his immediate response. I realized, now, that he most definitely had PTSD, the result of his traumatic life.

I got off the bed and headed out of the room, looking for him. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and stopped to stare at myself. Two perfect hand imprints in my neck, already bruising slightly purple. "Ow," I whispered, touching the bruises lightly. They went all the way around my neck.

That's when I heard muffled sobbing, and my heart broke as I found Erik huddled in one of the darker corners, hands covering his face in shame. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, turning away from me.

I put my hands on his shoulders gently. "It's all right, Erik. I forgive you." I rubbed his shoulders lightly. "It's okay, love. It was just a nightmare." I knelt down in front of him, trying to get him to look at me.

"That's no excuse," he said bitterly. "I'm a-"

I clapped a hand over his mouth. "Don't even say it," I warned him. "Don't do that to yourself. You are not a monster, Erik. You're a man who's been mistreated and neglected until now. You've been through the war of life, Erik, and you have PTSD. But I still love you. I promise."

He glared at me with tear-glazed eyes and broke down. I wrapped my arms around him and held his head to my chest as he sobbed, clutching on to me like a lifeline. I think it was the first time in his life he allowed himself to cry for his own sake, and so I let him cry. I tried to be strong, for him, but I couldn't help crying as well.

Finally, he ran out of tears, or energy, or both, and I kissed his cheek lightly. "Come back to bed, love," I coaxed, standing up and pulling him to his feet. "Come on."

He let himself be led to the bed and be tucked in like a child, and closed his eyes as Nicole kissed his forehead.

"There," she said softly. "Let me go make us a cup of tea." She stood to go make it.

He was seized by irrational panic that she wouldn't come back, and grabbed her wrist gently. "No, don't go. Don't leave me alone," he pleaded.

She smiled at him gently and lay down beside him. "I'm not going anywhere," she promised. "Just rest."

"Sing for me?" he asked, unable to take the silence of the cave.

I sat up and let him put his head on my lap. "Let's see," I said, running my fingers through his hair, trying to think of an appropriate song. I remembered the song mom used to sing to me when I'd had a nightmare. I smiled fondly. "Ah, Mary Poppins."

"Who?" Erik asked sleepily.

"Shhh." I leaned over to kiss him lightly and started to sing the lullaby from Mary Poppins.

He fell asleep before I finished the song, just like the kids in the movie, his exhaustion dragging him down into slumber.

I petted his hair for a while, relaxing after the emotionally charged episode, and finally slipped down to lay beside him again.

There were no more nightmares that night, and when he woke up in the morning he gave me a bashful smile.

"Thank you," he said, drawing me into a loving embrace. "No one has ever been there for me before."

"It's easier when someone's there to hold you afterwards, isn't it?" I agreed. "My mom was good at that."

"And you inherited her talents," he said, kissing me lightly.

I winced slightly as his hand touched one of the bruises.

He stopped, and really took a good look at the bruises on my neck. His eyes started to fill with self-loathing again, but before he could say anything I cut him off with a firm kiss.

"Next time I'll just throw a glass of water on you from afar," I said, pulling away from him. "This was an accident, and it won't happen again. Agreed?"

"Agreed," he said, his gaze still remorseful. He touched my cheek lightly. "You took care of me. Let me take care of you."

He put lavender oil and arnica on her bruises, and after making breakfast for the two of them he soaked a towel in boiled herbs and wrapped it around her neck to ease them into her skin.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, once he'd established her on the couch with a cup of tea and a book.

"A TV show," she replied wistfully. "I could kill for a cheesy sitcom."

He shook his head. "I've known you all my life and I still don't know half the things you speak of."

She smirked at him. "You're not missing anything important."

I stayed below for two more days before the bruising turned a pale yellow, enough to hide it with makeup. Nobody noticed the bruising, though several people were making insinuations about what exactly I was doing for two days with the Phantom.

"I was helping him make plans to set gossip mongers on fire," I snapped finally.

They left me alone after that.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Chapter Eight! There's no song in this one either. Enjoy!**

During the summer months, the Opera house closed. Patrons and general opera-goers escaped the muggy city and went on vacations, the ballet corps dispersed back to their families or stayed for training, maintenance was done on the building, and most of the actors and singers went home. I, as lead soprano, simply went downstairs. It was cooler in the cave, anyway, because of the lake.

"It's really, really hot outside," I said, coming into the lair one day after shopping. "Really, really hot. When are people going to invent air conditioners?"

Erik didn't reply, being too busy composing. "Listen to this," he said, rushing to his violin. He played me a quick tune. "Up, or down?" he asked.

"Up," I said, picking at random since I had no idea what he wanted.

"Perfect." He put down the violin and went back to his desk to write something down.

I put the groceries and supplies away, and lay down on the couch to take a nap. But I couldn't breathe in the dress, or lay comfortably, so I headed to our bedroom to change. I put on my pink camisole and a pair of my trousers, rolling the legs all the way up to become shorts. "Ah, freedom," I said, feeling the cool air brush my bare legs and arms.

I put my hair up in a ponytail and headed for the kitchen. "Erik, dear, do you want an iced coffee?" I asked.

He barely glanced at me, said, "Yes please," and glanced back down - and then he froze. He looked back up at me. "What are you _wearing?_ " he asked, eyes wide as saucers.

"Shorts and a tank top," I said. "Where'd you put the coffee?"

He started to redden. "You should put some clothes on."

"No," I retorted. "It's hot, and I'm tired of wearing dresses."

"Nicole please," he said, still red and staring, "what if someone sees you dressed like, like _that_?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Who's going to see me? Antoinette's gone with Meg to the seaside and Nadir always sets off an alarm on purpose to let us know he's coming so he won't interrupt anything." I went over to him, a grin spreading on my face. "Unless _you_ don't like me like this?"

He placed his hands on my waist to hold me there. "Oh I like you very much like this," he said, eyeing me lovingly, "but you're so very distracting." His eyes wandered down to my legs.

"Who, me?" I asked, giving him an innocent look and tipping his chin up to meet my eyes.

"Yes, you," he retorted, growling at me playfully and pulling me in for a kiss. "You and your heathenish 21st century ways, your bare legs and your iced coffees."

I settled in his lap happily, one arm around his neck. "Well if you haven't noticed, my love, it's summer and dreadfully muggy. I plan on wearing as little as possible and doing nothing at all except drink iced beverages. I don't even know how you can stand to wear a suit."

He smirked. "You come from a cold rainy place, I wouldn't expect you to understand." He wrapped an arm around her as she tried to get up. "I've had a thought." He'd actually been thinking of it for a while, but now seemed the right time to say it, considering his wife was at the century's equivalent of walking around without clothes on.

"Just one?" she teased.

"Maybe two," he admitted. "What if..."

"If?" she prompted.

"What if we went to the seaside for the summer?" he asked. "A place out of the way, where you could cool off in the water and I could walk about without fear of reprisals."

She gaped at him, her eyes lighting up at the idea. "Are you serious?" she asked eagerly.

"Quite."

"I'd love to!" she said, throwing her arms around him and kissing him soundly.

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Then we shall go. Allow me a few days to make arrangements, and we will be off by next week."

True to his word, three days later we boarded a train for Nice. The city itself would be incredibly crowded, but Erik somehow got a cottage on a deserted part of the coast, with its own sheltered inlet and not a soul in sight. And we stopped for a day in Nice proper to buy some more casual clothing. Pastel, loose dresses for me, and lighter suits for Erik. He tried to protest, but I put my foot down.

"I won't have you looking like a funeral director in the middle of a sunny beach," I said firmly, handing him the light gray trousers and vest.

He frowned at me. "I do not look like a funeral director."

"I misspoke," I said, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "You look like a handsome well-dressed nobleman, _all the time_. Can't you relax just a little, Erik? There's no one around to impress except me, and I already think you're quite impressive."

He gave me a tiny grin. "You have a point. Very well."

"Thank you dearest."

From there, we traveled to the cottage. It was perfect. Small, no need for servants, only a few steps from high tide level, and grassy hills to shield us from the rest of the world.

"What do you think?" Erik asked, dropping the trunks in the single bedroom.

I turned to survey the room, smiling. "There's one thing missing."

"What?" he asked anxiously.

I reached over and removed his mask, cupping his cheek lightly. "There. No masks while we're on vacation."

"No, Nicole," he started to protest, but I covered his mouth with a kiss.

"Yes," I said, drawing back. "I want to see your whole face, and this way it'll heal with the sun and the fresh air."

He gave a long-suffering sigh. "For you, I will."

"Thank you."

It was strange, waking up with the sun in his face. Erik covered his eyes with his hand and turned away from the blinding light. "Turn it off," he mumbled, burying his face in the pillow.

A sleepy giggle met his request. "The sun doesn't turn off, my love."

"Hmph," was all the reply he could manage.

Nicole's warm arms encircled him a moment later, pulling him into the crook of her shoulder, blocking the sunlight. "Go back to sleep."

He fell asleep again, safe and comfortable in his wife's arms. He didn't wake up until it got too hot and too bright to ignore. "See, this is why caves are better," he said, rolling to the other side to stretch. "It's dark all the time."

"Or, good morning, as people usually say," Nicole replied, rolling her eyes. She stretched luxuriously and kicked the blankets off.

He watched her stretch with a smile and leaned over her. "Good morning, my dearest, beautiful wife," he said, kissing her deeply.

Her eyes were sparkling as he pulled away. "Someone's in a good mood," she teased, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Sleep well?"

"Absolutely. Till the sun woke me up."

"It does that," she agreed, poker-faced. "Hungry?"

And he found with delight that yes, he was starved. He picked up his mask to put it on.

"Nope," Nicole said, reaching over to grab his wrist gently. "Remember what we said?"

He sighed. "Yes. Fine."

They had eggs and toast for breakfast, and then went out to walk along the beach. That turned into a splashing water fight, and then they lay in the warm sand to dry off. That turned into a nap, and after they woke they built a sand castle.

Erik, my husband the overachiever, went on and built turrets, ramparts, and windows, a moat, and a castle wall. I didn't have the skills to help him so I sat and watched. Like everything, he gave it his entire concentration, but he was definitely smiling. I could watch him forever, no matter what he was doing.

"There," he said triumphantly, putting the last little flourish on it.

"It's perfect," I said, smiling at him.

A wave sloshed over it, and us, two seconds later, sweeping away both the sand castle and my shawl. We stared at each other in stunned, soggy silence for a few seconds, and then I couldn't help it. I laughed. He started to grin, and then laugh with me.

We laughed until we couldn't laugh anymore, and dragged ourselves up above high tide on the beach. I leaned against his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around me. Neither of us said anything, because nothing needed saying. It was the perfect silence of the content.

That evening we returned to the house, starving and crispy from salt and sun, and after we both bathed, I made dinner.

"This was one of the best days of my life," Erik said, as we ate.

I smiled at him. "Really?"

"Really."

"What were the other ones?" I asked curiously, just to hear him talk.

He held up a hand. "The day I met you. The day I realized I loved you. The day you told me you loved me, which was also the day we kissed for the first time. The day of your debut. The day of our marriage. The day after that one. And today."

I smiled. "Anything before my time?"

"No," he said simply. "There might have been good days. But with you, they are the best."

The heartfelt declaration brought tears to my eyes. "I'm glad," I said quietly, smiling at him.

He reached over and held my hand.

The next day was nearly the same as the day before, and three weeks passed easily in a blur of sketching, singing, talking, loving, and walking along the coast. The weather was still hot, but it had calmed down some.

"What would you say to traveling?" Erik asked.

"Where?"

"Spain, perhaps?"

Nicole smiled. "Sounds good to me."

So they went to Spain. They took their time traveling, enjoying the beautiful countryside, and eventually they ended up in Madrid. Erik spoke flawless Spanish, and with his best charming manner, he managed to secure them a beautiful house for two weeks. He was quite surprised that except for a few stares, no one commented on the mask. No one called him a monster. It was liberating.

Erik was hiding something. He had gone out to do something earlier today and he came back with a sparkle in his eye and something in his pocket.

"What did you get?" I asked, cornering him in the parlor excitedly.

"Why would you think I got something?" he asked, though the smirk on his face gave him away.

"Because you've got that look," I said. "And there's a sharp corner in your jacket pocket."

He frowned at me. "You are entirely too observant ma cherie. I wanted to surprise you."

"Oops," I said, smiling innocently.

He rolled his eyes and pulled a few papers from his pocket. "Surprise."

I opened the envelope. "Opera tickets?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes. There is an opera house in Madrid, not very famous, but very good. They're doing a special gala for Romeo and Juliette, and for once you can enjoy an opera without having to perform in it." He looked at me anxiously. "Unless you don't want to go to the opera since we are on vacation from it, I could-"

I kissed him lightly. "I think going to the opera, stress-free, is a brilliant idea."

He smiled, relieved. "Good."

"That means, of course, I need a dress. And you need evening wear."

His smile widened. "I wouldn't expect anything less, my dear. Shall we go shopping?"

I took his arm. "We shall."

Erik found a suit easy, and spent the rest of the afternoon watching his wife try on beautiful dresses. It wasn't a bad afternoon, from his point of view.

"Ah, young love," the shopkeeper said, smiling at him knowingly. "I remember when my husband used to watch me like that."

Erik reddened, but he got distracted when Nicole came out of the dressing room. "Done?" he asked, surprised.

She smiled mysteriously. "I found the perfect dress."

"Which one was it?"

"I didn't show it to you." She smirked at him. "It's a surprise."

He grinned. "Fine with me."

Nicole spoke to the shopkeeper in a whisper, and had her make the alterations. "Can it be ready by Friday?"

"Yes of course, Madame."

"Thank you very much."

When my dress arrived Friday morning I bundled it into the wardrobe and locked it. "No looking," I admonished Erik playfully.

"It will strain my self-control but I promise," he said gallantly.

I laughed at him. "It's only for a few hours anyway."

"True."

When it came time to get ready, I kicked Erik out to get ready downstairs, and got ready. With the help of a maid, it still took me 3 hours to get ready. Hopefully Erik would be pleased.

"We're going to be late," Erik called impatiently up the stairs. They weren't really going to be late, but he hadn't heard a peep out of her for three hours and he was starting to get worried.

"Coming!" Nicole called.

He heard rustling at the top of the stairs and looked up. His jaw dropped as he stared at her.

She was wearing a teal colored dress with silver embroidery on the bodice that spidered all the way down to the hem. It had a modest but tantalizing neckline and was sleeveless, as the modern fashion was during the summer. Her hair was up in soft bun, with tendrils dropping to frame her face. "What do you think?" she asked.

"You are beautiful," he breathed, his eyes still the size of saucers.

She blushed lightly and came down to him at the bottom of the stairs. "I hoped you would think so."

"Always, my love," he said, smiling at her. "Shall we?"

"Yes."

They headed to the opera house without further ado.

When we got to the opera house I was surprised to see people start to stare at me. "It's Mlle. Hale, from the Paris Opera," the whispers started.

An older couple came up to us and said, "Mlle. Hale?"

"Yes," I said, feeling Erik tense beside me.

"Oh, we saw your performance two months ago, it was incredible," the lady gushed. "You sang with the voice of an angel."

I blushed. "Thank you, madame."

Erik seemed to have swelled with pride as led me to our private box. "You are famous," he said happily, kissing my hand.

"Strange, isn't it?" I asked wryly. "I didn't even exist a year ago."

We got to the box and I glanced up at the number as we entered.

"Really?" I asked him. It was Box 5.

"It was the best seat in the house," he said persuasively. "Only the best for my prima donna."

The opera started, and we were swept into the story. To be honest I never liked the Shakespeare play, but the opera… yes. I very much liked the opera. The lead actors were excellent, the ballet corps was decent, and the orchestra was very good.

"They're not as good as us," Erik said flatly, during intermission.

"You knew that from the beginning," I reminded him. "Can we go mingle?"

He made a face. "Must we?"

"Well it will look quite odd if we don't," I said. "Especially considering those people are waving at us." I nodded over to the small group of people that were looking at us.

He groaned. "Fine."

I patted his arm. "Only a few minutes, dear. I promise."

The group turned out to be a party of nobles from Paris, who'd seen my performances. I introduced Erik as my husband, M. Destler, and he was able to be charming.

"What do you do while your wife sings, monsieur?"

"He's a composer," I said eagerly. "A beautiful composer and musician. Very talented."

"Have you published anything?"

"Not yet," Erik said, giving them a mysterious smile.

"Forgive the question, Madame, but don't you belong to the Opera Ghost?" one of the charming vicomtes asked me. "Last I heard you were the Phantom's Soprano."

"A publicity story," I said simply, feeling Erik tense beside me. "Our resident ghost is quite a queue maker, as you know."

"Of course," the Vicomte said. "I was there you know, when he laid claim to you. It was very thrilling. How did he do it?"

I smiled mysteriously. "Ghosts never reveal their secrets to the living, monsieur Vicomte."

He nodded. "True."

"And you're all right with the whole arrangement?" a duchess asked Erik.

He gave her a tight smile. "My wife is famous. I like to think that it protects her from unwanted attentions."

I leaned into his side. "He won't admit it but he's madly jealous of the phantom, aren't you dearest?"

He smiled wider and wrapped an arm around me. "Absolutely not. I, as opposed to the ghost, can hold you in my arms."

With that romantic comment, we excused ourselves and returned to our seats. "So there _are_ advantages to being a human, then?" I asked him teasingly.

He entwined his fingers with mine. "Absolutely, mon Coeur."

The music started again, and we paid attention. The ending made me cry, as it always does, and we gave them a hearty applause.

After the show, the managers of the opera house found us and invited me (and Erik) to meet the stars of the opera. We spent a good few minutes chatting about technique and acting, and then we excused ourselves. Both of us were done with high society for now.

"We should do Romeo and Juliette," I said, as we curled up in bed together.

"You would want to?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Could you keep from crying at the end?" he asked teasingly.

"Maybe…"

He laughed outright at that. "We shall see, mon Ange. Now rest, we leave tomorrow morning."

"Good night."

"Sleep tight," he responded.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite."

He darted up out of bed. "Bugs? Vermin? In this house? I knew it was too good a bargain!"

I stared at him, and started to laugh hysterically. "No!" I finally managed to say. "It's just an expression. Come back to bed."

He eyed the pillow suspiciously but he lay down next to me and allowed me to wrap my arm around his chest. "Your 21st century expressions are always very odd."

"Shh," I said. "Some people are trying to sleep, here."

He rolled his eyes but stayed silent.

They meandered through Spain, Italy, and the top half of France until they finally came back to Paris. It seemed like the entire opera house was coming back to roost, and Erik had to wait till evening to slip into the lair through the Rue Scribe.

Nicole was waiting for him when he finally came in, and she was already putting things away. "It's so nice to be home," she said cheerfully.

He smiled at her and got an actual lump in his throat as he watched her putting away their clothes. "Home," he echoed. He'd never thought that this place would become a home, but somehow it had. "Our home," he said happily, kissing her intently.

"I'll come back later," Mme. Giry's voice said, amused.

Erik let go of Nicole reluctantly and straightened his mask, glad that he'd remembered to wear it. "Welcome back, Mme," he said courteously.

"Thank you. You as well. Did you have a nice trip?"

"Very nice," Nicole said. "How did Meg and Christine like Nice?"

"Very well," Mme. Giry replied. "They both got rather tan."

"It'll wear off in the fall," Erik assured her. Tan dancers didn't glow in the lights like they ought to.

"Speaking of tan, you two look rather brown yourselves," Mme. Giry said. "Spend a lot of time outside?"

"Quite a lot," Nicole said. "You should see Erik's face. It looks much better."

Mme. Giry raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

He rolled his eyes. "Nicole thinks that fresh air and sunlight are magical cures," he said dryly. "You don't have to see for yourself."

"May I?" she asked.

He scowled at her, but Nicole's soft smile changed his mind. Doubtfully, he removed his mask, and expected Mme. Giry's gasp. She never liked his bare face.

She did gasp, but two seconds later he saw her eyes fill up with tears. "It's true," she said. "Your face." She reached out and touched it lightly. "It is, much better."

Erik stared at her. He didn't quite believe Nicole when she told him his face was better, but Mme Giry always gave him the honest, brutal truth. "It is?"

"How do you not know?"

"He won't look at a mirror," Nicole said quietly.

"You should look," Mme. Giry said.

He nodded briskly, trying to distance himself. "Later." He turned away from them. "Was there anything else, madame?"

"I only stopped by to see if you and Nicole were back and settled in, and inform you that we need the new opera for the season."

Erik glanced at his wife. "Romeo and Juliette," he said.

She grinned and threw her arms around him. "Seriously?"

"Absolutely. You wanted to do it, we're going to do it." He accepted the thankful kiss from her with a smile.

Mme. Giry smirked at them. "Walk me out, monsieur?" she asked.

He offered her an arm and walked with her up the steps.

"You'd give her the moon if she asked, wouldn't you?" Mme. Giry asked, after a moment.

"Yes," Erik said promptly.

The ballet mistress smiled at him and squeezed his arm. "Happiness looks good on you."

"Thank you, Antoinette."

He returned to the lair and found Nicole cleaning. "Goodness, woman, we just got home, you can't wait to clean?" he asked, spinning her around and trapping her arms behind her.

She smiled up at him. "Well you see, monsieur, there's a phantom that haunts this place, and if I don't clean I'm terribly afraid he'll come after me."

"What a strange spectre," he said solemnly, "but I promise you, madame, the phantom won't lay a hand on you."

She smirked at him. "I'm afraid he already has."

"How horrible," he muttered sarcastically, unable to stop smiling as he kissed her.

She brought her hands up out of his grasp and wrapped them around his neck, deepening the kiss. "Absolutely horrible," she agreed, as he moved to kiss her neck and pull her closer.

"Well, I was going to ask how you were, but I can see everything's fine and dandy," said an amused voice.

Erik froze against Nicole's shoulder and released her reluctantly. "I swear to heaven above I will lock every single passage," he muttered, making Nicole laugh. He turned to face Nadir with a scowl. "What do you want?"

"Only to say welcome back," he said. "Now I've said that, you two go on with whatever you were doing." He gave them a knowing smirk and fled.

Nicole wrapped her arms around his waist. "You know, there's something to be said for isolation," she mused.

He rolled his eyes and kissed her. "Let me go close the passages and we'll be as isolated as anyone could ever be."

Later that evening, after we'd both showered, I threw on a dressing gown and sat on the bed to dry my hair. Erik was putting on a clean shirt, or at least, he was going to. He was frozen in front of the dresser, staring at the uncovered mirror. "Erik?" I asked gently, coming up behind him. I put my hands on his shoulders gently. "Are you all right?"

"My face," he said, his tone awed.

I smiled at him in the mirror. "I told you it was better, didn't I?" I traced the uneven skin on his right side. "It's evened out, lightened up. Just looks like old scarring, now." I kissed his cheek. "You wouldn't even have to wear your mask."

His eyes widened. "Nicole, I know you are accustomed to my face, but that does not mean I can go around showing my face to the whole world."

I rested my chin on his shoulder. "All right, all right. Don't go getting all grumpy on me now."

He smiled at me. "I'm much too content to be grumpy."

"Good."

Long after Nicole had gone to sleep, he held her in his arms and stared up at the dark ceiling. He couldn't sleep, not after what she'd suggested. Go out in public, without a mask? Impossible. Sheer madness.

"Shh," she whispered sleepily. "You're thinking out loud."

He kissed her forehead. "Apologies, my love. Go back to sleep. I'll be quiet." He smiled into the darkness as she sighed and nestled closer to his chest. _This_ was sheer madness, the good kind, where he held a beautiful woman in his arms who loved him. It was all quite insane. He stifled a laugh, and went to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Chapter Nine! Expect turbulence ahead...**

That very week, we started rehearsing for Romeo and Juliette. The Phantom of the Opera offered his opinions and advice in stern letters, and was quite the tyrant.

"He's mad because you left him to go on holiday," the younger ballet rats told me. "He didn't even do anything during the summer. Not a thing!"

"Why are you so harsh on everyone?" I asked him, later that day. "We're doing the best we can."

He scowled at me. "Three months of holiday and everyone's best is paltry rubbish." As an afterthought he added, "except you, of course."

"Of course," I said dryly. "That doesn't mean you can threaten people within an inch of their life."

"Why not? It's my opera house." His dark glare dared me to say anything.

"Do you want dinner?" I asked instead. "No? Good." I went to my room, trying to calm my temper. He could be an arrogant idiot sometimes.

He knocked on the door a few minutes later. "Nicole?" he asked hesitantly.

"It's not locked," I said briefly.

He opened it slowly and came to stand in front of me. "I apologize," he said, taking a deep breath. "I am impatient for the opera house to return to its prime."

"You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar," I told him.

He nodded stiffly. "I shall try that."

I gave him a small smile and held out my hand to him. "Thank you, my love."

He took my hand and sat on the bed next to me. "I was thinking of writing an opera."

"What would it be about?" I asked.

"I don't know yet. But I can feel it. Here." He tapped his chest.

I leaned forward and kissed the spot he'd tapped. "It feels like a masterpiece already."

"You really think so?"

"Erik, everything you create is genius. This will be no different, I'm sure of it." With those words, I sealed my fate.

He woke up that night with an opening scene. Carefully, he slid out of bed, making sure not to disturb Nicole, and went to the desk. Inspiration had struck…

I woke up to an empty bed. Erik's side of the bed was stone cold; he had gotten up hours ago. "Erik?" I called sleepily, wandering out of the bedroom.

He was sitting at the desk, scrawling out notes. He wasn't even aware of my presence as he crossed to the organ and pounded out a piece of music. He muttered under his breath and went back to the desk.

"Okay," I said, walking to the kitchen to put on the coffee, "never mind then."

I had a solitary breakfast, left some eggs on the stove in case he decided to be hungry, and went to get dressed. "I'm going now," I told him, half an hour later.

He mumbled something incoherently.

I kissed his forehead. "See you this evening, dearest."

He looked up, then. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you?" He was obviously out of it.

I smiled. "No, no, it's time for me to go to work."

"Already?" he asked, bewildered.

"There's coffee and eggs if you want. Enjoy your work." I kissed him briefly, and headed upstairs.

The day passed in rehearsals and standing absolutely still for the seamstresses. My costumes were going to be beautiful, if we could get past the numerous pins. "Ow."

"I'm sorry, mme. We're almost done."

"It's fine," I said absently.

I went down to the lair afterwards, and found Erik still in full composer mode. Without bothering him, I went up to eat dinner with the rest of the opera house tenants.

"Nicole," Mme. Giry said, giving me a surprised look. "Everything all right?"

"Oh yes, quite," I said, smiling at her. "You-Know-Who is working, and completely oblivious to everything. I'll take him some food later."

She nodded knowingly. "He will be quite exhausted when he comes out of it."

I nodded. I had distinct memories of dreams where Erik, caught up in the music, stayed awake for nearly a week and when he was done, was exhausted and irritable. "I know what to expect. I hope."

She patted my arm. "Be patient with him, my dear."

"I'll try."

That night, I brought him some food, and left it on his desk with some fresh tea. He was playing the same thing over and over, with tiny modifications. I kissed his cheek and went to bed.

" _Nicole_."

I opened my eyes blearily. "Whuh?"

"Can you sing this for me?" A candle and a piece of paper were thrust into my face.

"Wha-"

"I need to know how it sounds."

I blinked a couple of times and cleared my throat. "Okay. Uh…" I sang it for him, a few lines worth of aria.

"No, no," he said, snatching it away, "it sounds all wrong."

"Sorry," I said sleepily.

"Not you, my love, the cadence of the words." He pressed a kiss to my head and left the bedroom.

I blinked a couple of times in the darkness, and flopped back down. "Whatever."

The next few days were very strange. I worked around Erik, and spent a lot of time upstairs. Several times I had to go sleep upstairs in my dressing room because he was pounding or scraping away at various instruments.

It was ten days before Erik came out of his trance and spoke to me directly. I was in the middle of rehearsing my dance with "Romeo" onstage, when I heard the clear whisper. " _Nicole_ …"

I smiled. "M. Reyer, excuse me, s-il vous plait. Only a few minutes?"

"Of course, Mme. Ten minutes, everybody! Not the strings, you stay put."

I hustled backstage to my dressing room. "Erik?" I whispered.

He materialized from the mirror. "You stayed," he said, awed. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close.

I smiled at him and hugged him. "Of course I did. Were you expecting me to be gone?"

"I neglected you," he said guiltily. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to work for so long. You're not mad at me?"

I kissed him. "Is that answer enough for you?" I asked.

He smiled at me. "Quite. Will you come down to dinner?"

"Of course. We're almost done with the scene. Now go on and get some rest. My ten minutes are up."

He left, and I returned to rehearsal.

When I went back down, I found Erik sound asleep at the kitchen table. "Erik," I whispered, shaking his shoulder gently and stepping back in case of violent awakenings.

He merely twitched.

I smirked. "You really were exhausted, weren't you?" I couldn't exactly move him by myself, so I busied myself making dinner.

He came awake with the smell of food, and stared at me blearily when I put a plate of pasta in front of him.

"Eat," I urged him.

He ate slowly, methodically, and finished off his entire plate.

"Come on," I said, pulling him to his feet and dragging him towards the bedroom. "Sleepy time."

"Don't patronize me," he grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Then don't stay awake for a week and a half," I retorted. I unbuttoned his shirt and pushed him under the covers. "Go to sleep, Erik."

He grabbed my wrist. "Come here," he demanded.

I got in bed with him and he wrapped his arms around me. "Good night dearest."

"Love you," he said.

"Love you too."

He was instantly asleep.

He slept for 18 hours straight. All of his dreams were peaceful. And when he woke up, Nicole was still nestled in his arms, her face resting against his shoulder. He lifted a hand and lightly moved her hair off her face.

She opened her eyes blearily and smiled at him. "Good morning."

"Good morning, mon cher," he said, leaning down to kiss her. His neck twinged painfully. "Ow."

She smirked at him pleasantly. "That's what you get." She sat up, stretched, and started to massage his neck. "Lean forward?"

I rubbed the stiffness out of his neck and we got up to eat breakfast. He was still moving around stiffly, but he was full of energy. "Can I show you?" he asked, as soon as we finished.

"Yes, of course," I said, standing behind him at the piano.

He started to play, and urged me to sing the part. "It's for a soprano," he said. "It's for your voice."

"My voice?" I said, pleased. "Lovely."

But as I sang, I couldn't help but turn red. The entire song was about passion, pure unadulterated passion. I finished the song, and stopped, completely out of breath.

"Isn't that a little, ahem, risqué, for the audience?" I asked, trying to cool my burning cheeks.

He smirked at me. "If I get reactions like that from _you_ , my 21st century hoyden, maybe I shouldn't publish this at all. The public might burst into flames."

"Well that would be interesting," I dead-panned.

"Regardless, I will finish it," he said. "I can't stop, now I've started."

"What's it called?" I asked, leaning over his shoulder to read the first page of the libretto.

"Don Juan Triumphant," he replied. "That's a working title."

I frowned, the title reminding me of something. " _Past the point of no return_ ," I sang softly.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "That's a line two pages down."

"It's a song," I said distantly. "I remember this from one of my dreams about you. It's a duet…"

"Do you remember the rest?"

I concentrated, but there was nothing. "I'm sorry."

He kissed my cheek. "Don't worry, my love. I will write the song soon enough."

"I suppose you will."

He showed me the rest of his composition so far, and I knew it was a work of genius.

"What made you think of think of the subject, though?" I asked, nestling into his side as we sat at the piano bench. "Did some flower girl catch your eye, Don Juan?"

He smirked and kissed me. "Only if you count yourself as a flower girl, mon fleur d'amour."

"Oh, so it's about _me_ ," I said, grinning at him. "I'm flattered."

"You should be," he retorted playfully. Returning to seriousness, he asked me, "How are rehearsals coming?"

"Oh, they're fine. Damian (the lead) has taken the rest of the week off to go see his sister get married, so I've been practicing our duets on stage with one of the chorus to stand in."

He frowned. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've practiced with you."

"You were busy," I said dismissively. "And Pietro does the songs fine. You might think of giving him a lead in our next production, you know, he's a pretty good tenor."

"I will observe him tomorrow," he promised, taking my hands and leading me to the center of the parlor. "Now, let us practice."

That night when they went to bed, he made a silent promise that he would not neglect her again, no matter what he was composing or how much he was inspired. After all, if it wasn't for her, there would be no opera.

The next few weeks it was hard to remember that silent promise, and more often than not, he didn't remember until it was too late and she was already in bed, asleep.

"I'll make it up to you, mon amour," he promised, slipping in beside her slumbering form. "I promise."

She shifted slightly. "You better," she mumbled sleepily.

He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes.

He did okay for a few days, replying to me when I spoke and giving me cuddles and attention. But then he started working on the Act II, and I lost him again.

The day of the premiere came, and Erik didn't even notice. He was deep in his compositions all day.

"I'm going up to makeup and wardrobe now," I told him, on my way out.

"Mm-hmm."

"The premiere of the opera is in two hours," I continued.

"Yes dear," he said absently. "Tea would be lovely."

I sighed. "You're not even paying attention, are you?"

No reply, and from the looks of it there was no way he'd be coming to see me perform. Whatever he was doing was his whole world.

"Okay, whatever. Apparently I'm not as important as your music. Who needs you anyway." I headed upstairs, trying not to be angry about his indifference, but failing miserably. You would think he'd notice. But no. Not when I desperately needed him to help me through this next performance.

I sat through makeup, shuffled into my costume, and sat waiting on the wings. This was the first performance that Erik hadn't been with me to soothe my stage fright, and I felt like I was going to throw up. This was not going to go well…a tear fell out of my eye and dripped off the end of my nose, running a clear path through my makeup.

"Nicole!" one of the makeup artists scolded, patting powder back on my nose. "Are you all right?" she asked in a motherly tone, seeing my trembling hands.

"Yeah, sure," I said bitterly. "I'm fine, mlle, thank you." I stood up to go onstage, and took a deep breath. I glanced at Box 5. There was no sign of movement. Well then. I forced my anger from my mind and focused on slipping into character. I went onstage with a smile on my face.

Erik finally registered the orchestra music in the last act. He looked up from the pipe organ, realized what time it was, and swore heartily in both French and Persian. He dropped his papers and ran upstairs — to catch the performers making their bows. Nicole had earned a standing ovation, and he hid behind a pillar, ashamed to have missed her first performance as Juliette. He watched her closely. She looked pale, and about to collapse. He left Box 5 and went to her dressing room.

As soon as the performance was over, I rushed to my dressing room. Anger, disappointment, and stage fright were not a good combination, and as soon as I closed the door behind me I fell to my knees, forcing back a wave of nausea and tears.

"Shh," a very familiar voice soothed, rubbing my back. "Breathe, Nicole."

I pushed him away from me, curling into a little ball. "Go back to your opera," I said angrily, tears starting up again.

"No," he said firmly, picking me up and setting me on the bed. "You are more important than a piece of music."

"Where was that attitude three hours ago?" I demanded. "I needed you then. I almost didn't go on."

He dropped his head, ashamed, and kneeled in front of me. "Forgive me, Nicole," he begged. "Please, please forgive me."

He wrapped his arms around her legs, clutching on to her desperately. "Please don't leave me," he said. "I know I'm not worth it but please, Nicole..."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Of course I forgive you," she said, in a choked voice, still teary-eyed. "I should've tried harder to get your attention, but, seeing you wrapped up in your work, I just felt that your music was more important to you than I was, and-"

"Don't ever say that," he said fiercely, lifting his head up to meet her eyes. "Don't even think that. _Nothing_ is more important than you, not even my music. I know that now." He cupped her face in her hands. "You're everything to me, mon ange."

She smiled at him tearfully. "I love you."

"I love you too."

She pulled him up to sit beside her and kissed him fiercely.

When they broke for air he laid them both down on the bed, and held her close to him. "Our first real fight," he said, chuckling briefly.

She smirked. "I can't wait to see what happens when we're both actually mad."

"I pray that you'll forgive me for whatever I say in the future," he said solemnly. "As long as you stay with me, you may win all the arguments we ever have."

I grinned up at him, feeling a wonderful sort of calm settle over me now my stage fright had worn off and we were together. "I want that in writing, mister."

He chuckled again. "I will write it up tomorrow, if you'd like, madame."

I tilted my head to look up at him. "Honestly, though, Erik. We're married. That's a sacred vow. I wouldn't leave you just because we had a disagreement, or because you forgot about me. I love you enough to work past that, if you love me enough to put up with my stage fright and my 21st century ways."

"Absolutely," he said, and we sealed it with a kiss.

"There we are then," I said, laying back down, content.

He reached out to turn the light off, and we settled in the darkness. I felt Erik's hand clasp my own, and I squeezed it tightly. "Good night," I whispered.

"Sleep well, mon ange," he replied, kissing me lightly.

After that frightening occurrence, Erik dropped his work altogether and devoted himself exclusively to Nicole and the opera house. He helped her conquer her stage fright through every performance and kept her company from the rafters during rehearsals.

After Romeo and Juliette, they would be doing Faust, and auditions were coming up for that. Erik knew of course that Nicole would be getting the role - "but you still have to audition," he told her. "What do you want to sing?"

"I haven't the foggiest," she replied, in a strange accent.

"Fog?"

Nicole smiled and kissed him. "Never mind. I have an idea. You pick a song, and I'll sing it for audition. I trust your choice of music more than my own."

"Very well then." He gave her a light kiss and vanished behind the mirror, just as someone knocked on the door of her dressing room.

It was the seamstress, ready to tailor one of the costumes that had ripped. Nicole went with her with a smile, and Erik followed her gleefully.

He knew that Nicole hated standing still while they stuck pins all over the clothes, so when it happened, he stood behind a wall and threw his voice all over the place, pitched so only Nicole could hear him. The goal was to make her laugh.

But before he could say anything, a flood of ballet rats came into the room. "Mme! Mme!" they all shrieked.

"What, what?" she replied in the same hyper tone.

Erik smiled tenderly. She never ignored the younger ballerinas, and they absolutely worshiped her. It didn't hurt that she was the Phantom's Soprano and they knew they had to be respectful or else.

"Can you sing us a song?" the little girls requested.

"What song should I sing?" she asked.

"The one about everything!" one of the little girls said.

Erik raised an eyebrow. He hadn't heard that one before.

Nicole glanced at the seamstress to see if she was done, and stepped away from the pile of cloth. "All right. Here goes." As she sang the song from her 21st century she made funny faces and exaggerated motions, and encouraged the girls to sing with her.

"Come along," she said, holding out her hands to the little girls. "We shouldn't bother the seamstresses from their work." She led them all out.

He smiled after her. Heavens, he loved that woman. She would make an excellent mother- he stopped that train of thought before it started. Children were the one thing they couldn't have.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Chapter Ten! This one's a rollercoaster of emotion. I** _ **almost**_ **made it into two chapters, but that would have been a horrible cliffhanger and I didn't want to stress my loyal readers out.**

Erik came back from watching a manager's meeting, and as he walked down the passageway he heard the mournful tones of a piano. He slowed as he approached the lair, listening to Nicole sing the melancholy song titled Home, by Michael Buble.

He paused on the threshold of the music room, wondering if she was just singing, or if she was expressing her feelings. Was she unhappy here? Did she miss her own time?

"I can feel you staring at me," Nicole said, making him jump.

"My apologies, my love," he said, coming over to her and kissing her lightly. "Are you well?"

"Very well."

"You're not homesick?" he asked anxiously.

"Even if I was, it's a lost cause," she said, shrugging.

"But are you?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not. I thought I would be, but I have you, so… I'm good."

He smiled at that.

It wasn't two weeks later that I was walking down a hallway in the opera house, when I tripped over something and fell like a sack of potatoes. "Oof!" I pulled myself up, thankful there was no one there to see my fall, and turned to look at the object. " _WHAT?_ "

I picked it up, unable to believe it. It was a set of car keys. _MY_ car keys. My car keys that I left in 2014 with the rest of my life. My car keys which should've been lying on the floor of an antique shop along with the rest of my purse but were now in my hand in 1876.

"Erik!" I rushed down to our home and found Erik sitting at the organ, composing. "Erik, Erik, look."

"Keys?" he asked, confused.

"My car keys," I said frantically. "From the future. They appeared in the hallway."

"Where?"

"Near the dressing rooms."

He inspected the keys. "Did you notice anything strange?" he asked, trying to keep fear from entering his voice.

"No."

He pulled me into a hug. "Everything's fine, ma cherie. Why don't you stay down here with me for the rest of the day?"

"Yes. I think I will."

Neither of us said it, but the fear was there. What if this meant something was wrong?

Erik kept glancing over at Nicole. She was sitting on the couch, mending some clothes, and didn't look like she was going anywhere. But the fear was still there, the tension in the air.

"Are you hungry?" she asked, standing up.

"Not really."

"I'm going to make some tea." She went into the kitchen, and he resisted the impulse to follow her.

" _Erik_..."

The tone she used made him bolt up and run into the kitchen. "What?"

She pointed at a strange metal and glass object on the counter. "That's my blender," she said in a trembling voice. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," he said, swallowing hard. He reached out to wrap an arm around her waist. "Come back to the piano, dearest." He led her out of the kitchen and back to the parlor.

She still looked pale. "I don't feel very well," she muttered, grabbing onto Erik's arm tightly. "It's like, I'm leaving..." Her eyes fluttered closed.

"No! Nicole! Stay with me, open your eyes, please love, stay with me," he begged, laying her down on the sofa, still holding her tightly. He was frantic, fear gripping at his chest and making it hard to breathe. "Nicole! Nicole!"

She regained consciousness slightly. "Erik?"

"Yes, love, please, stay awake, everything will be fine." He kissed her cheek lightly, and realized he was crying.

A few tears slipped out of her eyes. "I love you," she breathed.

"I love you too," he sobbed, "so much. Please, Nicole."

"I'm sorry," she breathed, "I thought we had forever." her eyes rolled back in her head, and she passed out.

Her body disappeared from his arms the next second.

He stared in horror at the empty couch. "NO!" he screamed, grabbing at the sofa cushions. "NO! NO! YOU PROMISED!" He was in a tearing rage now, born of pain and grief. "NO! NICOLE! PLEASE! PLEASE NO!" He collapsed on his knees in front of the sofa, outright sobbing, holding his face in his hands. "No," he whispered, "please come back..."

I woke up with a gasp. "ERIK!" It was pitch black and I couldn't see. "Erik!" I fumbled for a candle, found a light switch, and flicked it on. I was in my bed, in my apartment, in the 21st century. "No. No, no, noooo, no." I scrambled out of my bed and raced through all the rooms. "Erik! Erik! Are you here? Please, tell me you're here!" There was no one in the apartment besides myself. I ran out to the parking lot. "Erik!" I was alone.

I started to sob. "WHY!" I screamed, my throat raw with emotion. "Why! I needed him! He needed me! We were fine! We were happy!" I received no reply from the silent parking lot.

Wait. How'd I get home? The man from the antique shop? Maybe it was his doing.

I ran upstairs to look for my keys, and realized with a strangled sob that they were in the past with Erik. So I ran. I ran through the streets at midnight, looking for the antique shop.

It was closed when I finally got there, but it was the kind that was a shop on the bottom and a house at the top. I banged on the door. "Hey! Hey! Open the door! Take me back! Take me back to him!"

There was no reply. One of the neighbors stuck their head out the window. "Hey! Shut up!"

"Who lives here!" I yelled back.

"Some man, I don't know. Hasn't been there for a week. Go away!" And the window shut.

I stared up at the house. Hadn't been there for a week? How long had I been gone? I stared through the window of the shop. There was no sign of life. No sign of the music box. It was a dead end.

Somehow, I made it back to my apartment and threw myself onto the bed. I cried myself to sleep. I didn't dream of Erik.

Erik finally cried himself into an exhausted sleep, and when he woke up he checked the house again for her. He'd convinced himself that she had to be in the opera house somewhere. She couldn't really be gone.

He tore the Opera House inside out, searched from top to bottom, scaring the residents out of their wits as he called for his love. He didn't find her, anywhere, and realized that yes, she was truly gone.

"Erik?" Mme. Giry appeared in the secret passageway, scaring him half to death. She saw the tear tracks on his face and frowned. "What's wrong?" 

"She's gone," he said numbly, leaning back on the wall for support, since his legs were shaking.

"Who's gone? Nicole? Did she run away?"

"No!" he snarled, "she's gone back to the future! She was taken from me! I saw it, I was there, she's gone..."

Mme. Giry's eyes filled up with tears. "I'm sorry, Erik, I'm truly sorry. Is there nothing you can do?"

"Nothing," Erik choked, hiding his face. "I don't know how to get her back."

"Have you asked the Persian?"

The question made him stop short. Nadir was the one that had shown him the story about the soulmates. Nadir had to know something. "I will be back," he said gruffly, and swept away.

He found Nadir at his home and explained what had happened. "Tell me everything you know," he ordered.

"Erik, I am on your side," Nadir said, shaken, "I _will_ help you. Sit down, man, you look like you're going to fall over."

Erik sank into a chair and poured himself a generous shot of brandy. "Show me the book again," he requested.

They spent all night researching, but it was time travel. There was nothing about it except vague mentions in legends and myths, and Erik knew that it was a dead end.

"I don't know what to do," he said despairingly. He looked up at Nadir. "How am I going to live without her?"

"It's hard," Nadir said, shaking his head. "But I survived. You will too."

"But you weren't-"

Nadir frowned. "Don't you dare say my wife and I were not soulmates, Erik."

"I wouldn't say that. I know you were. I was _going_ to say that you weren't as challenged as I am. Who is going to save me from myself now?"

I found out the next day that I'd been gone for a week. Only one week, when a whole year had passed for me. I didn't even know what to do.

My work called at about ten thirty that morning. "Hey, Nicole, you back from vacation yet?" my boss asked.

"Vacation?" I asked blankly.

"Yeah, how was it? Your house sitter said you were going to Europe. See any dead people?"

I started to cry at the realization that Erik had been dead for two hundred years. Erik, Nadir, Mme. Giry... I pulled myself together. Couldn't freak out the boss. Then, wait a second. "What sitter?" I demanded. "A house sitter?"

"Are you hungover? The sitter that took care of your goldfish and your plants. Some guy, said he was a family friend. Told us you were coming back today."

"Oh yeah," I said, not really knowing what was going on.

"So, we gave you the weekend off, if you want it. Sherry needs the extra shifts."

"No problem," I said, getting teary-eyed again. From Prima Donna to barista in five seconds flat. "Gotta go, see you Monday. Bye." I hung up and curled up on the couch, crying again. I had three days before I had to go back to normal life.

I spent them depressed, curled up on the couch, alternately sobbing and staring into space, missing the feel of Erik's arms around me. I didn't have my dreams to give me any comfort.

Erik was a mess. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept; the last time he'd eaten. He couldn't even sleep in their bed, it made him weep to think of their time together.

Neither Nadir or Mme. Giry were able to get him to snap out of it. "Erik, the opera house needs you," Mme. Giry tried, "we need to find a new soprano, and Le Fevre is waiting for your direction."

"Leave me alone," he said dully. "There's no one as good as Nicole, it doesn't matter."

Nadir tried as well. "Erik, you're neglecting your instruments. Shouldn't you play? Compose something, to help?"

Erik stared at the organ, at the violin, at the piano. "There is no point," he said. "Without Nicole, there is no music. None. Go away Nadir. Let me grieve in peace."

I forced myself to get ready for work on Monday. I needed the money, and no matter how much I wanted, I couldn't stay and grieve for my husband. After a long search, I found the other car key in the bottom of the drawer, and I got in the car to drive to work. I was _not_ going to think about Erik today. Nope. It was all about coffee.

My resolution didn't last long, as the song playing innocently on the radio echoed the last words I'd said to him before disappearing. I bit back a sob, thinking of his terrified face and his anguished cries.

I couldn't help it. I pulled over and cried into the dashboard. I missed him so much my heart _ached_ , and I felt like I was being pulled apart from the inside out.

A soft thump alerted me to a change. I lifted my head to look for the source of the noise, and found an inkwell sitting unsteadily on the upholstered passenger seat. I grabbed it quickly before it tipped over, and just _stared_. This was the inkwell from Erik's desk. The one he uses to compose his notes.

I dipped my finger in it to test the ink. Still fresh and wet and blood-red as ever. How was this possible?

A tiny bubble of hope started to grow in my chest. If things from that century were coming here, did that mean Erik would soon follow?

I cradled the inkwell in my lap all the way to work, and brought it in with me to sit on the counter. I prayed to whatever deities were out there that this would mean something good.

The rest of the day passed in a hopeful haze, and I couldn't even get anyone's names right. Not to mention I'd lapse into French three quarters of the time.

"For crying out loud, you were only in Europe for a week," Sam said, "how can you be speaking French so fluently?"

"It felt more like a year," I replied, giving him a tiny grin, only possible because I was staring at the inkwell.

When I went home the inkwell took its place on my desk. I didn't know what else to do but stare at it and think about Erik. I fell asleep sometime around two in the morning.

Nothing happened for two days, and I started losing hope. What if it was just a random occurrence?

"Nicole, are you all right?" Sam the boss-man asked. "You look really tired."

I gave him a tired smile. "Yeah. I'm just working through some things."

"Yeah. Oh, hey, how's your imaginary boyfriend?"

I'm sure he meant the question to cheer me up, but the question made me sob instead. "Sorry," I said, running out of the Starbucks through the back door. I sat on the edge of the curb and rested my face on my knees as I cried. I couldn't handle it anymore. Everything made me cry, everything reminded me of Erik, everything-

 _Clink_.

I looked up. Erik's mask rested on the pavement at my feet, rocking slowly on the curved surface.

I resisted the urge to scream and picked it up gingerly. It was still warm, and the leather inside smelled like his aftershave. "Please," I begged, "please let him come to me..." I kissed the mask's cheek, hope burning brighter than ever even though I was sobbing. "Please, please..."

Erik was laying on the couch, exhausted, emotionally drained, trying to sleep, when suddenly, a draft of air hit his face and his eyes snapped open. He slapped a hand on his face. Where was his mask?

He looked around for it and couldn't find it. Where did it go? Was he losing his mind now, as well as his wife?

He got up from the sofa and nearly fell over as a wave of dizziness hit him. He realized he was passing out, and then just before he completely dropped unconscious, he saw Nadir running towards him.

There was a bright light in front of me in the parking lot, and I stared in awe as the light became brighter and solidified into the shape of a person. It was him. "Erik!" I shrieked, running to him and falling to my knees beside him. "Erik, please, wake up!" I begged, dropping kisses and tears all over his face. "Erik!"

He stirred slightly and opened his eyes. "Nicole?" he whispered in disbelief, reaching up to touch my cheek.

"Yes, yes, Erik, I'm here," I sobbed, hugging him tightly. "I knew it! I knew something was happening!"

He hugged me to his chest, tears coming out of his own eyes. "How?" he asked brokenly, kissing me fiercely. "How did you do it?"

"I don't know," I said, tracing the features of his face in wonder. I gave a half sob, half laugh. "I thought I was never going to see you again."

"Shh," he said, hugging me tightly. "We're together now." He kissed me. "I love you so much."

"I love you," I said, pulling him into a long kiss.

A strangled, "What?" broke our kiss. My boss was standing there, along with half the Starbucks patrons, and they were staring at us. "What's going on?" my boss asked.

I handed Erik his mask and stood up, letting him compose himself as I smiled at the crowd. "Everyone, this is Erik."

"Erik, the imaginary boyfriend?" the boss asked uncertainly.

"Erik, my _real_ _husband_ ," I said, showing him the necklace with my ring on it, which had never come off. "I had to leave him in France, which is why I've been depressed. And now, he's here." I gave Erik a brilliant smile.

"Nice to meet you," Sam said. "Okay folks, corny dramatic love scene is over." He hustled everyone back into the cafe with promises of free scones. He waved me off. "Go home."

I took Erik's hand. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"My apartment." I pulled him to the car. "Get in."

"The horseless carriage?" he asked uncertainly.

"It's perfectly safe," I said, squeezing his arm lightly. "It's fine."

We made it to the apartment, scaring Erik half to death only a few times, and we got inside. "Welcome to my world," I said, gesturing around the apartment. "Sorry about the mess. I was..." I gave him a watery smile. "I was really upset."

He thought of the half-destroyed lair he'd left behind, and took her into his arms. "I know, my love, I know," he said, kissing her.

She made some tea and they retold their stories from the past week. After a lot of crying and cuddling and holding each other tight, they were finally at peace and content.

"Okay," Nicole said, leaning back onto his chest, "I think I'm good now."

He kissed her temple, his analytical mind starting to work now that his emotions were drained. "But how do we know that it won't happen again?" he asked.

Nicole sighed. "I don't know. All I can process right now is the fact that you're here with me."

Erik held her close for a few moments, burying his face in her neck. She smelled differently, like strawberries. He missed her lavender soap. But it was a new world, a new time. There had to be changes.

"I'm sorry that you had to leave the opera house behind," Nicole said softly, drawing his thoughts back to the present.

He kissed her lightly. "It doesn't matter where we are, or when we are, as long as you're with me I don't care."

She smiled at him. "Was anyone there when you left, anyone that will know?"

"I think that Nadir was entering as I disappeared." He shook his head. "I wish I could've said goodbye."

There was a knock on the door.

Erik let Nicole up and they both went to the door. Nicole opened it, fully prepared to send whoever it was away.

"You!" she gasped, on seeing the man at the door.

"I thought now that you're both here you'd like some answers," the man said.

Erik grabbed him by the collar and hauled him inside. "Who are you?" he demanded, dropping him on the sofa.

"My name is Nadir Khan, the Fifth." He smiled slightly at their shocked expressions. "I am Nadir Khan's great-great-great-grandson. He saw you vanish, and knew what had happened. You had gone to be with your wife, your soulmate. Neither of you ever returned to his time, so he knew that the two of you were safe here in this time. He got married a couple years after you left, and he had a son. He realized then, that it was his line that would keep the timeline intact. So he set up a trust. If you go to the bank now, it will have the entire Destler fortune waiting for you. Last I checked, you have three million dollars."

I gaped. "Three million dollars?" I squeaked.

"Yes." He smiled. "And there's a storage unit in North Portland that has all of Erik's things, especially the compositions. The organ is in Paris, still in the Opera Populaire."

"My instruments?" Erik asked.

"Yes, all of them."

Erik's smile could have lit up the world.

Nadir handed us the envelope containing keys and passwords. "You may change them if you wish," he said. "Also at the bank you will find a complete identity for M. Destler. Passport, social security, personal website, lineage, doctored photographs, the works."

"You really thought of everything didn't you?" I asked.

"We tried," Nadir said modestly.

"So, you also own the antique shop?" I asked, glad that Erik's identity had been preserved.

"Yes. Nadir's first son made the music box with the Music of the Night in it, and it has been passed down since then. I was waiting for you to find me, like I knew you would. I do apologize for knocking you out. It was easier that way."

I grinned slightly. "I don't really mind."

"But why did Nicole leave first?" Erik asked, wrapping an arm around my waist, still traumatized from the experience.

"We still don't know. It's just one of those things." He shook his head. "I only know that she had to go first, so that you would be drawn to her in the future, er, present." He shook his head. "Five generations and it's still confusing."

I managed a laugh. "But it's never going to happen again right?"

"No. I can promise you that."

Erik kissed the top of my head lightly. "I don't know how to thank you," he said sincerely.

"I am glad to help you," he said, bowing low. "My family was most devoted to your love story."

"Thank you," I said, squeezing his hand.

He smiled at me. "I'll get out of your hair, now, Mrs. Destler. I know you two must want to be alone." He headed out the door.

"Wait," I said, stopping him on the threshold. "Who did Nadir marry?"

"You wouldn't know her. She was one of the seamstresses at the opera." He smiled briefly. "She worshipped the legend of the Phantom of the Opera, and loved you very much, my Prima Donna."

"Madame Valjean?" I asked, remembering the kindly woman who would sew my costumes.

"Precisely."

I smiled. "Good for her."

Nadir touched his brow in a salute. "Au revoir, mes amis," he said, and closed the door behind himself.

I wrapped my arms around Erik's neck and smiled up at him. "So what shall we do in this new century?" I asked.

He kissed my nose. "I don't know, ma cherie, do you have any ideas?"


	11. Chapter 11

After spending a wonderful few days together, they finally decided to get their life started in this new century. The first thing they did was go to the bank and activate their joint account. It was over three million dollars, just as Nadir Khan the V had said. The next thing they did was go shopping. Erik needed clothes for this century, and Nicole bought some dresses and fancier clothes. After that, they went to the storage unit to see what Nadir's family had saved.

When Erik saw what was saved in that storage unit, his eyes filled with grateful tears. It was his complete collection of compositions and artworks, including all of his drawings of Nicole, a few miniature stage sets from the more famous operas, his desk, the intricately carved wardrobes, a few of the nicer candelabras, Nicole's vanity table and chair, the sofa, the mirror from the parlor, and the monkey music box. All of his instruments were in their cases, lined up against one wall. And in a box under the lay his entire collection of masks.

"They got all the important things," Nicole said. She smiled slightly. "They missed my evening gowns."

"We can get more, mon ange," Erik said, stroking the polished wood of the Stradivarius. "We are rich, after all."

She gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "I can't believe it. We're millionaires."

"We were rich before," he pointed out, slightly miffed.

"I know," she said, kissing his cheek soothingly. "But we lived in an underground cave and worked in an opera house. And I could never get the hang of the franc system anyway. But three million dollars, yeah, that makes sense."

He smirked. "And what would you like to do with three million dollars, my dear?"

"Sing," she said simply, touching the piano keys lightly. "I'd like to sing."

He smirked. "So you're finally over your stage fright?"

"Heavens no," she scoffed. "But I feel like singing anyways."

"You will be a prima donna again very soon with that attitude," he said, smiling at his wife.

She raised an eyebrow at him playfully. "And maybe you'll join me on stage, my husband?"

"Me?" he asked, taken aback.

She nodded. "You have the most beautiful tenor anyone has ever had. Anyone would fall in love with your voice."

"And my mask?"

"Stage makeup." She took his mask off and looked at his face inquisitively. "I think plastic surgery would actually fix it, if you wanted to do it."

He touched his deformed cheek lightly. "This could be fixed?" he asked uncertainly.

"I'm sure it could."

He took the mask back from her and put it on. "Let us get settled first before we spend our money on flights of fancy."

She grinned at him. "Agreed."

We left everything in the storage cube and went to Paris, next. That was Erik's first time flying, and he was absolutely terrified.

"This is an abomination," he grumbled, gripping the seat armrests with a white-knuckled grip. "Man was not meant to fly."

"Oh come on," I said, squeezing his thigh lightly. "Leonardo Da Vinci invented flying machines."

"Yes but he was a genius."

"So were the men who invented these airplanes. It's going to be fine." I smiled at him. "Trust me."

He relaxed marginally and let me hold his hand. When the plane lifted off he nearly crushed my hand, but he survived it. Once we were up above the cloud layer, however, he started to enjoy it and look out the window. He was so child-like in his excitement I couldn't help myself and had to take several pictures with my phone. He caught me around the fourth picture and scowled at me. I snapped a picture of that as well.

"Why do you do that?" he asked, frowning at the photos critically.

"You may not like looking at your face but I love your face, so I'm going to take as many pictures as I possibly can."

He sighed. "Fine."

"Thank you." I put my phone away and leaned on his shoulder. I sighed happily when he wrapped an arm around me. "I love you."

He kissed the top of my head. "Je t'aime," he murmured.

We both fell asleep during the long flight to New York, and our flight from New York to London was delayed for a whole day. I decided to take the opportunity to show him New York. We went to Chinatown, saw the Statue of Liberty from the edge of the Manhattan waterfront, went to the Empire State building, and visited Times Square.

Erik had never seen so many people in his life. The city of New York was _huge_ , and all the people in it were rushing to and fro, going places and doing things. And their clothes! And their appearances! No one gave a second glance to his mask. He did notice several women glancing at the rest of him, however.

He wrapped an arm around Nicole possessively. "Why are those women staring at me?" he asked quietly in her ear.

She managed a subtle glance towards the women in question. She gave them an arch glare, worthy of a prima donna, and when they turned away she started giggling.

"What?" Erik asked.

She grinned up at him. "Erik, dearest, in today's world of couch potatoes and office workers, you are a god amongst men. If there was a French Mr. Universe, you'd be him."

"I don't know what you're saying," he said flatly.

She squeezed his bicep lightly. "I'm saying that you are a handsome man and they are glaring at me in jealousy."

He couldn't help the tiny smirk that appeared on his lips. He bent down and gave her a kiss to wipe away her scowl. "Let them be jealous. What's that over there?" And he pulled her away. It was a very strange feeling to be ogled at by women, and he did not like it at all.

We stopped in London only a few hours, and then we were on our way to Paris.

"What is it like now?" Erik asked, as we flew over the channel.

"I don't know. Big, modern, with all the old architecture mixed in. It's still got the tiny streets and the cafes and the feel of Paris, I think." I gave him a tiny smile. "It'll be all right."

Nicole was right. Paris was bigger, modern, with sky scrapers and public transit systems and more people than ever, but it still retained its Parisian air of wonder. They got a taxi, took the scenic route around the city, and were dropped off in front of the Opera Garnier.

It was still standing, and it was still going. The current production was Carmen. At the moment it wasn't open to the public.

"How do we get in?" Nicole asked doubtfully.

"We can go round the Rue Scribe entrance," he said confidently, and held out his hand to her. "Come along, ma cherie."

He found the Rue Scribe entrance. It had been painted over several times, but the door still slid open silently and quickly. "It's been oiled recently," he deduced.

"Nadir?" Nicole suggested.

"Probably."

She produced the flashlight on her phone and they went in. A rat scuttled past them and she stifled a shriek, huddling closer to Erik. "Sorry," she stage-whispered.

He held her hand. "Obviously the occupation of rat-catcher has gone out of style," he said dryly. "Ignore the creatures."

They finally walked into the cave, and both of them sighed in relief. "It's like time stood still," Nicole said. "Everything exactly as it was."

He crossed immediately to the pipe organ. It looked exactly the same, polished brass gleaming in the flashlight. He turned on the gas that lit the candelabras on the walls, and as the lights flickered on, he sat at the organ bench. He cracked his knuckles, stretched his fingers, and placed his fingers on the keys. With the first note, he was swept away by the music.

I closed my eyes as he started to play, the sheer amount of raw emotion bringing tears to my eyes. I went to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He leaned back against me slightly and continued to play, his spontaneous composition ringing through the cave and up into the opera house.

Up above, rehearsals stopped as music began to filter through the pipes, beautiful, powerful music that stirred people's souls. All over the opera house, people stopped their work to listen. Stagehands, actors, costumers, orchestra members, cleaning staff, they all stopped to listen.

And one blonde child in the corps de ballet started to smile. " _He's here, the Phantom of the Opera..."_ she sang, twirling around en pointe.

"Marie Giry, back to your plies!" the ballet mistress ordered, pointing at her.

"Oui, madame," the girl said, going back to her spot. She couldn't believe that all of their family stories were true. The Opera Ghost had returned.

We stayed frozen until the last notes had faded away into silence. "Wow," I said finally.

He sighed. "Yes." He got up from the seat and kissed me, long and hard. "We'll have to have room for the organ in our home," he said.

I smiled at him. "At this rate we'll have to buy a mansion."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I ain't cleanin' no mansion."

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed with my Texan grammar. "That's what maids are for."

"Oh yeah."

He gave the keyboard a final caress and held out a hand. "Come, my dear. Let us go see what these fools who run my theater are doing."

I laughed at how easily he fell into the role of the phantom again. Granted, it had only been a few days since he was here. Okay, three hundred years and a few days. I rolled my eyes at my own ramblings and followed Erik up through the tunnels.

We emerged in one of the disused storage rooms, and got into the hallway. We weren't disturbed until we got into the more populated areas of the opera house.

"Pardon-moi," someone wearing a manager's ID said, approaching us. "What's your business here?"

"My name is Erik Destler," Erik said, "I am a composer and creative director. This is my wife, Nicole Hale, a great soprano singer. We mean to come to a performance this weekend, and one of your other managers let us in to look around."

"A soprano?" the manager asked. "I've never heard of you."

"I've had a fairly quiet career," I replied, giving him a demure smile, "I haven't really had a big break."

"Hm. Well, welcome to the Opera Garnier." He gave Erik an odd look. "Have you ever heard of our Opera Ghost?"

"You have a ghost?" Erik asked blandly.

"Well, we had. He disappeared, along with the leading soprano, in 1876. It was quite the sensation. He was said to wear a mask covering his face..." He stayed gawking at Erik.

I stepped in. "Erik was born with a facial deformity, that's why he wears the mask when we go out. We're all about melodrama, you know." I gestured to the heavily made up actors as they passed.

The manager grinned. "I suppose we are. Apologies, monsieur."

Erik gave him a slight bow. "Would you be so kind as to give us a tour?" he asked.

"Of course."

He rattled on about things we already knew, showed us the prima donna dressing room, which looked relatively the same, and had the same mirror-entrance that no one knew about.

"And here's the stage," he said, ushering us onto it.

I paused near the wings to take a deep breath. Only a week and a half ago I had stood upon this stage to sing... "We were auditioning for Faust," I murmured distantly. "You never did pick a song for me."

Erik took my hand and squeezed it tightly. "I chose it," he told me. "I never got to tell you."

"What were you going to sing?" the manager asked politely.

"Think of Me," Erik said, glancing at me.

I smiled. I knew that song. It was from one of Erik's operas that he'd composed called Hannibal. "He wrote it," I told the manager.

He raised an eyebrow. "Would you mind singing it for us? We're done with rehearsal for the day."

"Sure," I said, even though inside I was quaking with nervousness.

Erik gave me a quick kiss while the manager was clearing the stage and shushing everyone. " _Sing for me_ ," he whispered.

I stepped to center stage and clasped my hands, taking a few deep breaths. The manager nodded at me, and I started to sing.

 _"Think of me, think of me fondly_

 _When we've said goodbye_

 _Remember me once in a while_

 _Please promise me you'll try_

 _When you find that once again you long_

 _To take your heart back and be free_

 _If you ever find a moment_

 _Spare a thought for me_

 _We never said our love was evergreen_

 _Or as unchanging as the sea_

 _But if you can still remember_

 _Stop and think of me_

 _Think of all the things_

 _We've shared and seen_

 _Don't think about the things_

 _Which might have been_

 _Think of me, think of me waking_

 _Silent and resigned_

 _Imagine me, trying too hard_

 _To put you from my mind_

 _Recall those days_

 _Look back on all those times_

 _Think of the things, we'll never do_

 _There will never be a day, when I won't think of you_

 _We never said our love was evergreen_

 _Or as unchanging as the sea_

 _But please promise me_

 _That sometimes you will think of me_

 _Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they_

 _have their seasons so do we, but please promise_

 _me that sometimes, you will think of me."_

Erik smiled, incredibly pleased, as she sang. There was nothing holding her back as she poured her heart into the last few lines.

Everyone was standing there, stunned, as she finished the song and gave them a tiny smile. They burst into applause.

He smirked slightly, and without moving his mouth, threw his voice, making it seem as if the stage was echoing. " _Brava, brava, bravissima_ ," he sang softly, letting it rise above the applause.

The effect was electrifying. Everyone glanced around wildly, looking for the voice, and a few people tittered nervously. Nicole helped the illusion by turning pale. Of course, no one but Erik knew that she was pale because she was nervous.

"Who was that?" the manager asked.

Erik did not deign to reply.

The manager shrugged it off as a practical joke and turned to Nicole. "You sing like an angel, madame," he said.

The lead soprano, a woman in her mid-thirties, stepped forward. "You are wonderful," she declared regally. "Absolutely wonderful." She turned to the manager. "I want her as my replacement."

Nicole gaped, and Erik was hard-pressed to keep his expression nonchalant. "Replacement?" Nicole asked faintly, leaning on Erik's arm.

"I am retiring, ma cherie," the soprano said, "I have two children at home and they need their maman. I was staying until we found a replacement. And I have found it in you, my dear." She raised an eyebrow. "What do you say?"

Nicole glanced at Erik. "We will have to confer, of course," she said, looking back at the managers. "Can I get back to you?"

"Of course, madame," the manager said. "Would Friday night after the performance be sufficient time?" That was the day after tomorrow.

"Yes," Nicole said, "thank you very, very much for this opportunity. We'll see you Friday night."

Erik hustled her out of there, back to the tunnels, and down to the cave. He sat her down on the organ bench so she could recover her breath, and he paced back and forth. "I am so proud of you," he said. "The world recognizes perfection when they see it."

She smiled at him. "The world recognizes genius in songwriting when they see it, as well. I love that song."

Erik knelt before her, taking her hands. "What do you want, mon ange?" he asked. "Do you wish to be prima donna once more?"

"I don't know," she said. "You know how I get after every performance." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Would you be here with me, help me?"

He kissed her hands. "For you, mon coeur, the phantom would rise from the dead," he promised her.

"We'd have to move to Paris," I said, trying to think practically.

"We have lived in Paris before. You speak French like a native. We have the money."

"We'd be famous," I warned him. "Pictures in the paper and on the internet. You'd be a mystery with no past."

"Pasts can be faked."

"If the phantom returns, he can't go back to terrorizing the theatre and trying to run it," I told him.

He pressed a kiss to my knuckles. "He would stick to his soprano," he promised. "Only Erik Destler would give suggestions."

I raised an eyebrow. "Could you handle the loss of control over the theatre?"

He furrowed his brow, thinking hard. "I believe I can cope."

"One last thing," I said.

"Yes?" he asked.

"You have to start publishing your works."

He gaped at me. "Why?"

"You are a genius, Erik. You've written various operas, you've made hundreds of scores, composed hundreds of songs. And it's easier to get published nowadays, and get famous. The world needs to know your genius, my love. As your wife I won't stand for anything less than adoration of the masses."

He smirked. "As your husband, I won't stand for anything less than the same for you."

"Well then," I said, leaning down to kiss him lightly. "We have a deal."

Friday night, we went to the opera house, and were invited backstage. I signed with the Opera Garnier as its leading soprano, starting in September with the opera _The Magic Flute_. That gave us three months to give Erik a false background, move to Paris, and establish ourselves as a wealthy Parisian couple who happened to be musical geniuses. I also had to get Erik up to speed on today's technology. No pressure.

They started to look for a house, since by silent agreement they decided that living in the fifth cellar of the opera house was no longer feasible.

It was Nicole who found it; a beautiful, three story home near the Opera House, one of the early 19th century homes that was plenty big enough for keeping a pipe organ and a baby grand piano. It cost a quarter of a million dollars, but it was worth it.

After the sale was finalized, they returned to Portland to pack up Nicole's apartment and arrange the shipping for the storage unit.

"They don't fly these things over the ocean, do they?" Erik asked doubtfully.

"No, no, they go on a boat," Nicole reassured him. "It'll be fine."

He still took the Stradivarius and his compositions and drawings with him in his suitcase. He didn't trust this modern world yet. He marveled at it, yes, but trust? He was working on it.

Nicole was a grand help. Now it was her turn to play the teacher in this relationship, and she guided him through the use of cell phones, automobiles, microwaves, electric stoves, computers, coffee makers, television, and the strange entity known as the internet. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to having such a wealth of information at his fingertips.

"But you have to be really careful what you believe," she stressed. "Don't think it's true just because the internet or the television says so."

"Well then how do you know what is and what is not?" he countered.

That led to a lecture about source verification and multiple opinions and their discussion of technology lasted all the way till they got to the hotel in Paris.

When they arrived in Paris, they went straight to their new home. They slept on the floor that night, surrounded by manuscripts. He held her close and listened to her steady breathing as he stared up at the ceiling, contemplating life.

The next three months, when we weren't at the opera house slowly getting to know the staff and the cast, we were shopping. Endless hours of shopping to furnish our house. I kept the style simple, yet elegant, just as we liked it, and some rooms I made more flowery than others, or more technologically sleek than others.

"We're not getting a TV," Erik said flatly, as we were wandering through Paris' version of Best Buy.

"What are you talking about? We are so getting a TV. A Smart TV, with Netflix on it. And YouTube."

He looked aghast. "No, Nicole. Do you know what it will do to your brain?"

"I've lived my whole life watching TV in moderation and you still love me," I pointed out. "We _need_ a TV. How else am I going to catch you up on the last hundred and some years if not through documentaries and PBS specials?"

Finally, after I expounded upon the virtues of television and promised him that it wouldn't suck his brains out, Erik conceded and we bought a TV. Well, two of them. One for downstairs in the private parlor/family room, and a smaller one for the master bedroom.

We got smartphones, bought a little car, furnished our giant house, and found a favorite cafe, bakery, and grocery store. We'd also hired a cleaning service that came once a week. Erik wanted us to get a cook, on the grounds that I'd be too tired from performances and rehearsals to cook, but I put my foot down. "If I could do it then, I can do it now," I said firmly.

He frowned at me. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." I smiled at him. "I _like_ cooking. And if not there's always takeout for lazy days."

By the time the season started, and rehearsals began full force, Erik and I had gotten the hang of living in the real world. And so far, no one had questioned him about his mask. I hoped that this streak would keep up, and coaxed him out into public more and more.

The first day of rehearsals, Erik accompanied Nicole to the theatre, and walked back to the house. He had a second cup of coffee, watched some television, and started the laundry for the week. He was infinitely grateful for the invention of the washer and dryer, since washing clothes by hand was something he'd detested.

He then watched more TV, sitting through the entire Titanic film, and then moved to the music room. Before he knew it, he was lost in song.

My first official day at rehearsals was surreal. The surroundings were exactly the same, familiar and beautiful, but the people were completely different. I kept expecting M. Reyer to pop up and scold us on our blocking, or Mme. Giry to be banging her cane to bring everyone to order, or the patrons to be sitting in the audience, watching us. But instead there were people on tablets and iPhones waiting around, the directors and choreographers were wired to the speaker system, and everyone was speaking a mix of French and English. I had to keep pinching my arm to see if this was really happening.

And people kept making fun of my French. "You speak so formally," the leading tenor, Maximilian, said teasingly. "Where did you learn French?"

"The late 1800's," I deadpanned, making everyone laugh.

"So you're one of those people that reads," another actress said, giving me a smile. "How quaint."

"Love the classics," I said, giving her a grin.

"You'll have to go down to our archives one of these days," someone else observed. "Read all the reviews, all the stories of the Opera Ghost. Have you heard of him?"

"Opera Ghost?" I echoed.

"Yes. Legend has it that there was a ghost of a genius who became enamored with a leading soprano. He warned all the girl's suitors off and supposedly, she bound herself to him for eternity. She left the country a year or so later, and the phantom left at the same time. Some people say he died of grief, and some people say he followed her wherever she went." Maximilian winked at me. "And you know they still haven't found a way down to the fifth cellar where the phantom's lair is supposed to be."

"Sounds intriguing," I said, smiling at them. "A beautiful legend."

"Who knows, madame. We all heard the voice when you auditioned. Could be you brought the phantom back to life."

"Well if she did," a very familiar voice interrupted, "he'll have to go through me." Erik walked onstage, to my side. "I came to walk you home, mon Ange," he said, kissing me on the cheek.

"So adorable," one of the other actresses sighed.

I said my goodbyes and we walked home. "Did you hear what we became?" I asked, once we were out of earshot.

"Legends," Erik said, smiling at me.

I smiled and sang the first verse of a song by Fall Out Boy. I sang softly, giving it an operatic twist.

"What song is that?" Erik asked.

I smirked. "You wouldn't like it, dear, I promise you."

"How do you know if I've never heard it?" he retorted.

I looked it up on YouTube for him and passed him my earbuds. "Listen, then."

He got two seconds into it and ripped off the earbuds. "What in heaven's name is _that?_ "

"Music."

"No, it's not. That's not music. That's noise."

"Not for some people," I said placidly, used to his lyrical snobbery.

He grumbled about 'regressing to the stone age of music' all the way home. "Now this, this is real music," he said, leading me to the piano to show me what he'd composed.

As rehearsals for the play continued, Erik set about doing his own project. He had no idea how to get his works published in this day and age, but Nicole had made him promise to try, so he would try.

He spent the day researching on the internet, his genius mind getting the hang of the search engine called 'Google.' He read dozens of articles, reviews, publishing house briefs, and decided his first step was to create a portfolio. But to do that, he needed copies of his manuscripts, and he needed to put them into the computer for electric letter-sending. There, he got stuck.

He waited impatiently all day for Nicole to get and then asked her, "How do you put physical things into the computer?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Huh?"

"My manuscripts. How do you make copies?"

"We need a Kinko's," was her cryptic reply.

"What is that? Some sort of device?"

Nicole face palmed. "It's a store where they do it for you."

"No one is touching my manuscripts," he stated firmly.

She sighed. "Fine. Then we need to buy a scanner." She got on the laptop and logged into her online shopping account. "How big are the papers?"

Two days later we had a scanner/printer. It took us another full day to figure out how to use it, and then we started the massive undertaking of scanning Erik's music into the computer.

A fifth of the way in I had to buy an external hard drive so our laptop wouldn't fill up its storage space.

"It doesn't even look like that much," I complained, giving the new PDF a file name.

Erik kissed the top of my head. "Go to bed, ma cherie," he said. "You have your first dress rehearsal tomorrow, remember?"

I gaped. "Oh, right. You _are_ coming, yes?"

He kissed me lightly. "I would not miss it," he promised.

 _Quelle horreur_ , was the only thing that passed through Erik's mind as he watched the first dress rehearsal. They were absolutely horrible. The costumes were only half sewn together, the corps de ballet wasn't synchronized at all, and the actors had yet to learn their lines, depending on the prompters to help them out. And the orchestra... Erik growled. There were at least 4 people who did not know what they were doing. At least 10 more were out of tune.

"So what do you think?" one of the manager's assistants asked, sidling up to him.

"The Phantom of the Opera would be appalled," Erik growled, giving the young assistant a glare.

The lackey's eyes widened and he backed away slightly. "That bad, huh?"

"Yes," Erik said flatly.

"Well it's only the first rehearsal," the assistant said. "They're sure to improve."

"Not with this lackadaisical attitude," Erik retorted. He waited until the director called a five-minute break, and went over to Nicole. "I thought art was supposed to improve with time," he told her. "You are the only one who is doing well."

"I know," she said. "There's a few of us that actually care, but the rest of them..."

"This is not art," Erik finished. "It is a job."

"Exactly. They just want to be done."

He frowned. "The Phantom would have many things to say about this."

She tugged at his sleeve urgently. "You're not going to say anything though, right? Right?"

"I could fix this." He got a gleam in his eye. "I am sure I could fix this."

"Not as the phantom," Nicole pleaded, "you have to go through normal channels."

He looked at his wife, and saw the true fear in her eyes that they would be discovered. He kissed her lightly. "I will only talk to the director. I promise."

She nodded, relief plain in her expression. "Go on then."

He gave her a reassuring smile and moved over to the director. " _Pardon-moi,_ monsieur, could I make a few suggestions?"

The director gave a huge sigh. "Yes, monsieur?"

Erik started with his list of suggestions. He was gratified to see the director start to take notes.

"The third violin you say?" the director asked, giving the orchestra member a glare.

"Yes, monsieur."

"I see." The director finished writing notes. "You have very good suggestions, monsieur. I think this will help immensely."

"I hope it does," Erik said, trying to make his voice not sound threatening.

"All right everyone, that's all for today," the director said, getting everyone's attentions. "There's some management details to be discussed. Madame Veire, I want those costumes finished ASAP."

Nicole glanced at Erik suspiciously. "What did you do?" she mouthed.

He grinned at her.

We were given the next day, Sunday, off, and Erik and I spent it holding hands and walking through Paris, talking about everything and nothing. I snapped a few pictures of us to print out later. Goodness knows we needed some photos on our walls.

Somehow, we ended up at the opera house, as we always do. We went in through the Rue Scribe entrance and went down to the cellars. They were nearly empty, since we'd moved everything to the house, but there were a few things left in case we needed to spend some time down here. It was like our secret underground bunker, if you wanted to be dramatic about it.

"We should put some more food in here," Erik said, rifling through the cupboards.

"Planning on moving back in?" I asked teasingly.

His answer was surprisingly serious. "Not at all. Ever. My life is out there." He gestured towards the upper levels.

I smiled at him and took his hand, leading him up to the stairs. "Come on, Erik. Let's go home."

He squeezed my hand lightly. "Someday," he said, pausing on the threshold, "we will close up the fifth cellar for good."


	12. Chapter 12

Erik was checking his email that evening before going to bed, when the last email he read made him freeze. "Nicole?" he called uncertainly, wondering if he was reading it right.

She left the kitchen and went over to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. "What's wrong?"

He showed her the email he'd gotten. "Did you suggest this?"

She read the email, her brow furrowing. It was an invitation from the producer of the opera to co-direct. She leaned closer over his shoulder. "This is... this is great. Your talent is being recognized." She turned to kiss his masked cheek. "You no longer have to hide in the shadows."

He smiled. "Thanks to you, my love."

"Are you going to accept?" she asked.

"Of course," he said. "They need all the help they can get." He wrote the reply and sent it off. He added only two conditions: everything he ordered would be complied with, and he wanted complete control of Nicole's scenes to make them perfect.

He got a response back only ten minutes later. Yes, on both conditions, since the producer well understood what it was like to have a spouse as a star.

Erik smiled. At this rate the Opera House would be his again within the year.

It was surreal, going to work on Monday with Erik. He was incredibly nervous as we walked in.

"I have never given orders from the middle of the stage before," he said, "I don't know if I can do this. I have always worked from the shadows."

I smiled at him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "You'll be fine, Erik. I promise. Just remember to breathe, and be patient. It takes time to come up to the standards of the Opera Ghost."

"Hm."

"It took me 20 whole years," I added.

He stared at me. "What?"

"Why do you think I took so many singing lessons, and performed even though it makes me physically ill?"

He stared at me some more. "You did that, for me?"

"I knew you'd be disappointed in me if I didn't live up to my full potential." I blushed at the intense look on his face. "Even when you weren't real, you were very important to me."

He led me towards a secluded corner and kissed me, hard. "Have I told you how much I love you, admire you, and absolutely adore you?" he asked, pressing another kiss to my lips and pulling me into a hug.

"A few times," I replied, breathless.

He kissed the top of my head. "You surprise me every single day," he said, cupping my face in his hands to smile at me. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," I replied, smiling at him. "But you're procrastinating and you know it."

He groaned. "Why are you so perceptive, woman," he sighed, pressing another kiss to my lips. "Come on then."

With Nicole's reassuring presence by his side, Erik braved the masses. They'd seen him before, with Nicole, and they were glad to accept his direction. Except... they had no soul, no vision with their performance.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said, pausing the performance. He caught Nicole's worried glance and took a deep breath to calm himself.

I smiled as he gave an impassioned speech about the sentiments behind the opera, and the feelings of drawing in the audience and making them part of the story. I looked over at the audience, and realized that the others were actually responding to his speech.

"Now," Erik said, "shall we try it again?"

To his infinite surprise, they did, and did it _well_. The rest of the day they only improved, and he gave them heartfelt congratulations on their performance. After that, he and I went home.

"How did I do?" he asked, once we got in the door.

I laughed and kissed him. "You did wonderfully. I don't know why you were even nervous. I'm so proud of you, Erik."

He gave me a shy smile. "Truly?"

"Yes." I hugged him tightly. "So proud of you. I love you so much dearest."

"Maybe this will work," he mused. "I hope I can continue doing this, with your help."

"You can count on me," I promised.

"Thank you, mon ange." He kissed me lovingly, and yawned. "Dealing with people face to face makes me so tired."

"Come on then," I said. "Let's go to sleep."

We got ready for bed and as I sat on the bed beside him, I was struck again by how different his face seemed, now that he had daily exposure to light and air. I reached out to touch his cheek gently, and he leaned into my touch.

"What is it, mon cherie?" he asked, pressing a kiss to my palm.

"You look so well. So healthy." I smiled wistfully. "I wish you could walk about without your mask. You could, you know. Nobody would notice."

He stiffened and pulled away. "I can't, Nicole."

I reached for him again. "Yes, you can. I've lived here, I know what people will tolerate. You're not a monster, dearest. Everyone knows you're not a monster. You've proved that at the opera house, at the store, wherever people know you in person. You don't need to wear a mask."

He turned away from me. "I'm tired. Good night."

"Erik, don't do this," I begged, putting my hand on his shoulder. "Please. Think of what Mme. Giry and Nadir would want for you, they wouldn't want you to continue living behind a mask. _I_ don't want you to hide behind a mask." I felt tears well up in my eyes and I choked them down. "Please, Erik, just consider it. If you don't feel comfortable as it is, let's _do_ something about it. Let's find a plastic surgeon, have them reconstruct your face."

He was silent for a long time.

I turned away from him and sighed. "Fine." I made myself close my eyes and try to go to sleep.

I was nearly asleep when I heard his voice. "I'll think about it." It was so soft I thought I was dreaming. And then I felt him turn around, and put an arm around my waist, and I knew he had really said it.

"I love you," I said softly. "I love you no matter what your face looks like."

"I know," he said roughly, and kissed my hair. "Go to sleep, my love. We'll talk about it in the morning."

True to his word, the next morning at breakfast, he brought it up. "So," he said. "Plastic surgery."

"Yeah," I said quietly.

"I thought about it," he said, "and you are right. I can't continue to live like the phantom, if I want to be just Erik. I woke up early to research it, and I think, I want to do it." He held up a hand. "But not until after the show. I don't want to distract from it."

I smiled at him. "Of course."

"Good."

The next two months were a blur of activity, and Erik had never been so exhausted in his life. Being a regular person was much more difficult than being a ghost. But he'd never been happier in his life. And he was pleased to note that Nicole was thriving now she was returned to her own time. His wife was always happy, especially now she had her Netflix back. He still did not understand the point of this stored television.

"That's because you're too smart," she told him, "you don't have a concept of non-critical thinking. It's two in the morning and your brain is still buzzing."

"That's not my fault," he said, "I have three hundred years of history to catch up on. The advances in science alone will take me a lifetime to catch up on. And the architecture! And the medical science!"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes dear." She grabbed his arm and dragged him up the stairs. "Let's go to bed, Brain."

"Brain?"

"I'm Pinky."

"What?"

"Pinky and the Brain, it's Pinky and the Brain!" she hummed.

Erik stared at her. "I'm going to assume that you're making another cultural reference."

"Yep." She smirked at him teasingly.

It was opening night of _The Magic Flute_ , our first show in the 21st century, my first appearance as a soprano. And I couldn't breathe again. I was hiding behind my changing screen, in full costume, wondering where I'd misplaced my lungs and my confidence.

"Nicole?" Erik found me, and pulled me into his arms. "Nicole, my love, breathe."

"You said that last time," I grumbled, hiding my face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his aftershave.

"And see how well it worked?" he asked, smoothing my hair down lightly. "You're here with me, about to become famous."

"I don't want to be famous," I groaned, fighting off another wave of anxiety at the thought of the TV crews scattered throughout the audience. "I want to be a nobody again."

He kissed my forehead. "You were never a nobody, mon Ange." He kissed me lovingly and dabbed at my tears, careful not to smudge my stage makeup. "Now. We'll do this just like every other performance. Every time you're off stage I'll be there for you. I will be there, for you, mon coeur. I promise."

I took a deep breath and stole another kiss. "All right. Let's do this."

The opera was a success. _The Magic Flute_ had a full house, was televised live throughout France, and received a standing ovation at the end. Nicole did wonderfully, more wonderfully than she had ever performed in the past. Erik was barely able to function in his capacity as director, he was so in awe at his wife's performance. He finally left the directing to his assistant, who'd proved a good enough man, and went to his own domain - the catwalks. He watched from his favorite spot, and as the performance ended, he decided to encourage her.

 _"Brava, brava_ ," he called lightly, letting his voice echo throughout the auditorium, and focus on Nicole's place on stage.

She smiled up at him brilliantly, and gave another curtsy before slipping off-stage while everyone looked around and murmured.

He hurried downstairs and fought his way through the crowd backstage, sweeping Nicole into his arms. "You sang like an angel," he said, kissing her in full view of everyone.

They all 'awwww'ed' and clapped, and Nicole pulled away, blushing but happy. "Very well done, director," she told Erik, placing a kiss to his cheek.

The after party was loud and modern, and Nicole and Erik escaped to the roof of the Opera house. "We'll have to do this all over again tomorrow," Nicole said, snuggling closer to the circle of his arms as they watched Paris from above.

"And the day after that, and the day after that," Erik replied, kissing the top of her head, "for three months."

"But now we know we can do it," she started, "will you think about this?" And she laid a hand on his masked cheek.

He sighed. "Yes."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Last chapter.**

We were not expecting the wave of fame that followed our first performance. People wanted interviews, pictures, signings, webcasts, podcasts, radio interviews. There was no end to the queries for social media.

Erik flatly refused any and all interviews and showings, preferring to be labelled instead, "The Phantom Director," as one journalist called him. But he encouraged me to go for the limelight.

"You are the star," he said, "you deserve this. The people need this, to see how wonderful you are."

So, I learned how to give interviews. It was a bit like holding court in the 1800's, and I adapted quickly enough. When asked about my career in the past, I told them about my singing and acting lessons, my high school plays, and my few years in 'budget productions of famous operas' aka the past. And I told them that yes, I was married to the director, and no, I wasn't hired because of him, but the other way around.

And in between the interviews, we practiced and rehearsed and performed, and Erik was somehow able to find energy to compose in the middle of the night. And in between all that, we researched options for reconstructive surgery. Money was no problem.

Finally, we found a doctor who could do it. "The only thing left will be some light scarring that will fade with time," the doctor said. "Your nose will be slightly crooked, but it won't be very noticeable." He drew a quick computer model for us on the screen. "What do you think?"

Erik and I shared a glance. He squeezed my hand tightly. "Let's do it."

The surgery was set for another two and a half months from that appointment, which gave Erik the opportunity to get a head start on the opera house's next production, which was Faust. He designed all the sets himself, giving it a haunting, solemn look, and impressed on all the actors and the ballet that Faust was about haunting the soul, and they were to act the part.

"You think I got through to them?"

Nicole smirked. "You terrified the ballet corps, dearest. I think you accomplished your mission."

He sighed ruefully. "What I wouldn't give for a dead rat and a ballerina's shoe."

She smacked his shoulder lightly. "Don't ruin it, now."

"Madame? Can we get your measurements, please?"

He watched her walk away with the costume makers, and turned to his assistant director to go over some notes.

The day of the surgery dawned, and I was terribly nervous for Erik. He was nervous as well, although he didn't want to show it. But when I took his hand, he refused to let go of me up until the point the nurse came in to put him under.

"Everything will be fine," I promised him, kissing his twisted cheek. "I'll be waiting for you."

He nodded, and gave my hand a final squeeze before he let go.

I paced a small track in the waiting room while I waited, and waited, and waited. They say a watched pot never boils, and they're absolutely right. At the rate time was going, I'd fossilize before the surgery finished.

Finally, a nurse popped her head in and told me, "Your husband is in recovery now. You can sit with him if you'd like."

"Yes please." I followed her to the recovery room and sat in the chair next to Erik's bed. Half his face was wrapped in bandages, and he looked just like he normally did, except he was very still. He was almost never completely still. Even in sleep he would move slightly, even if it was just his hands as he composed in his sleep.

It worried me, and I reached out to place a hand on his chest. The steady up and down of his breathing reassured me, and I took his hand. "When will he wake up?" I asked the nurse.

"In an hour or two, once the anesthesia wears off," she replied.

"Thank you." I leaned over and kissed his forehead. I played on my phone and kept an eye on him. I started humming the intro to Beauty and the Beast.

"Sing it, won't you?" Erik murmured dazedly.

"Erik!" I leaned over to smile at him. "How's my sleepyhead?"

"Groggy," he admitted, closing his eyes. "Face, hurts."

"I'm sorry." I leaned over to kiss his uncovered cheek. "The doctor assured me everything was fine. Now you're awake, they're going to keep you overnight just to make sure there were no complications, and then we can go home."

"And you'll stay with me?" he asked.

"I promise."

I stayed that night in the hospital, and at around midnight I crawled into bed with Erik to keep him from picking at his bandages. The doctors discharged him in the morning and we went home. The bandages would come off in a fortnight.

"You have two weeks of vacation," I said, settling him on the couch with a tome of natural history. "Enjoy."

He sighed. "Have a good day at work."

"Don't overexert yourself, and don't pick at your bandages." I kissed him on the head and left. "Love you!"

Erik's natural habitat was to be alone, in the dark, with a mask on. But knowing that underneath his current mask of bandages could be a normal looking face was driving him insane. He wanted to see what he looked like, he wanted to know if the stigma that had followed him his whole life was finally gone. It took all his self-control not to pick at the bandages. He couldn't stand the silence, so he called Nicole during her lunch break.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Ridiculous," he said frankly. "I can't concentrate, can't play, can't read-"

"You're on pain killers and you're nervous dear," Nicole replied. "Why don't you try and sleep, or watch some TV."

"TV," he grumbled. "There's nothing on. When are you going to be home?"

"I can come home early if you want. I don't really need to be here for the middle of the third act."

Her willingness to come home and keep him company made him feel ashamed at his own weakness. He was not a baby that needed coddling. "No, mon ange, I'm fine. I will just, take a nap."

She sounded dubious. "All right, if you're sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I love you."

He put the phone down and sighed, suddenly tired. He lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. His hummed rendition of Figaro trailed off halfway as he fell asleep. The next thing he knew, the smell of warm bread and garlic was wafting through the air, and the sound of Jeopardy was on in the living room.

"What is Tennyson?" Nicole said loudly, and then, "Yes! Thousand points!"

Erik smiled and got up. If she was home, he must have slept very well indeed. He shuffled out to the kitchen and hugged her from behind, pressing a kiss to her neck.

"Hey, you're awake," Nicole said, surprised. She turned to face him, her arms around his shoulders. "I was going to bring you dinner."

"How was rehearsal?" he asked, sitting at the table.

"Boring without you, monsieur director." She pressed a kiss to his hair and placed a bowl of soup and a piece of garlic bread in front of him. "Try not to chew too much."

"Yes dear."

The two weeks passed rather quickly for me, but for Erik the two weeks of forced inactivity were agony. He became a positive bear about everything and shut himself in the music room for days on end.

But finally a fortnight passed and we returned to the doctor's office. I held Erik's hand while the doctor peeled away the bandages. Erik's eyes were closed but I couldn't tear my eyes away. Finally, the last bandage was lifted away and the doctor nodded. "Everything looks fine. It's healing well and in a few weeks you'll get your color back."

Erik still had his eyes closed, his grip on my hand almost crushing. "Nicole?" he asked, his voice hushed. "How do I look?"

I reached out to touch the left side of his face. "Like my husband."

He opened his eyes to frown at me. "That's not a description."

"Then why don't you see for yourself?" I handed him a mirror from the counter, excited and nervous to see his reaction.

Erik slowly looked up into the mirror, his heart hammering nervously, and just _stared_. He looked _normal_. The left side of his face had been smoothed out, the side of his cheek filled in. He looked a little crooked if you squinted and there were fading scar lines but other than that... he blinked away the moisture in his eyes.

Nicole smiled at him. "Well?"

He could hardly tear his eyes away. "It's just right. Thank you doctor."

"It was my pleasure." The doctor then advised him on follow-ups. Remember o moisturize, don't pull at the skin, be very careful shaving, no exaggerated expressions for another few days, don't sleep on that side for a couple months, and avoid sunburn.

As they left Erik pulled his mask out of his pocket in preparation. He paused with it halfway to his face. He didn't need it. "I don't need it," he said aloud.

Nicole shook her head. "No you don't." She pushed open the front door and held out a hand. "Come on, let's go home."

He went out the door.

Nobody stared, nobody screamed, nothing happened. He was completely normal. It was disconcerting.

Nicole wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him towards the car. "C'mon Erik. It'll take some getting used to, huh?"

"Quite a lot of getting used to," he replied, still in shock.

she leaned up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Now the only problem is you're twice as handsome."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh really."

"Really. I've decided you can't come back to work. All the women in the theater will fall all over you. You've got to stay home."

He smirked and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. "Oh really."

"Really," she affirmed, smiling at him.

He kissed her gently, cupping her cheek in his hand. "Now you know how I feel all the time," he murmured. "Je t'aime, Nicole."

"I love you too."

We did a few practice runs in public to get used to Erik's new appearance. The grocery store, the park, the library. No one gave him a second glance.

Erik was ecstatic and I couldn't be happier for him. After everything he'd gone through it was all over. He'd never have to be an outcast again, and just thinking about it made a lump rise in my throat.

After another few days it was Erik's first day back at work and he was terribly nervous. I couldn't blame him. The opera house was _his_ domain, and now to enter it unmasked?

"I feel naked," he murmured as we climbed the steps of the opera house.

I squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I'm positive you have clothes on Erik. Promise."

He patted the inside pocket of his jacket. "I brought it," he explained uncertainly. "Just in case."

Of course, everyone knew already why he'd been gone for the last three weeks. When we walked backstage there was a stunned silence as everyone stared at Erik. Then the assistant manager said, "Welcome back Erik." He turned to the others. "Places people! We start up in five!" and that was that.

I gave Erik a quick kiss - he still looked stunned - and got into position across from the male lead. "Bonjour, Max."

"Bonjour. The director looks well."

"Yes he does."

Rehearsal went well, and afterwards I was dragged to a fitting. The ballet chorus was also getting measurements done for their costumes, and the place was filled with half-sewn skirts in different gauzy colors.

My skirt was full of pins and I was waiting for Mme. Verne to finish her notes and release me from my imprisonment when I realized one of the ballet rats was staring at me, her face scrunched up in a frown. "Something on my face?" I asked, giving the blonde child a raised eyebrow.

The girl, she couldn't have been more than twelve, blushed hotly and dropped her gaze to the floor. "No, mme," she murmured.

"Then what's wrong?" I asked gently. I wished I could kneel down to talk to the child, but I was still trapped in the dress.

"Well," the girl started, but was called away by the ballet mistress. She scampered away, shooting me a nervous glance.

I frowned curiously. What was her problem?

When I was finally released and back in jeans, I went to find Erik. We had reservations for dinner at Le Chat Noir and still had to go home and change.

He was done reviewing the schedule for the next day with his assistant, and we headed out.

As we were leaving the back way, I saw the little ballet rat again, with a group of her friends. She was staring at Erik, now. "Hold on," I murmured to him, squeezing his arm. I walked over to the little group. Her friends scattered, and I realized Erik had followed me over. "Why do you keep staring?" I asked the girl.

She turned red again and scuffed her toe.

"Are you star struck, petit fille?" Erik asked, surprisingly gentle.

"It's not that," the girl replied. "I thought you were Monsieur le Fantome and his Soprano, but..." she shot his smooth face a frown, "you're not. It was all for show."

"You know the phantom is just a legend," I said uneasily.

Her light brown eyes flashed defiantly. "No he's not. He was real. _Is_ real, somewhere. My maman said so. And her maman before that, and before that."

"And who is your maman?" Erik asked indulgently.

"The former ballet mistress before she died," she replied, "Amelie Giry."

Erik turned white as his mask and I could feel the blood drain from my face. "Giry?" he asked. "You are a Giry?"

"Marie," she said, and gave a polite bow. "My great-great-great-grandmother knew the opera ghost, the real story, and we always knew he and his wife would be in the future because they'd-" she stopped talking. "Anyway, you're not them, I thought you were, but le fantome would not have a face like that."

Erik and I exchanged a glance. "And your papa?" I asked.

She sighed. "He left us when my maman got sick."

"And you are here on the full dance program?" Erik asked.

"Oui monsieur."

Poor child. She had no one. And she believed so strongly in the phantom... I gave Erik a Look.

"No," he said, recognizing my expression.

"But Erik," I pleaded," she's all alone."

"We have a reservation," he stalled.

"Since when do you care about food?" I retorted.

He made a face. "I suppose..."

I looked at Marie. "How many people have you told about the phantom's true story?"

"None. Maman always said to respect the phantom's privacy, and they wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Good girl." I looked at Erik.

HE sighed. "I see your point. Very well."

"Thank you dear." I held out a hand to Marie. 'Let's go to my dressing room to talk, shall we?"

Erik followed the two to the dressing room and they all took seats.

"All right dear, so you know how you thought we were the phantom and his wife?"

"Yes?"

"Well we are."

Marie looked skeptical. "You're not, you just said-"

"We didn't know you were a Giry," I explained.

"But-"

Erik pushed open the panel behind the mirror abruptly, revealing the tunnel.

Little Giry's jaw dropped. "What?"

Erik pulled the mask from his pocket and let her hold it.

She took it reverently, her eyes wider than her whole face. "You are... how, monsieur? How?"

"Time travel, little Giry," he replied. "Didn't your mother or your grandmaman ever explain it to you?"

She sat on the sofa. "Yes, but, how?"

"Science doesn't explain everything, dear," I replied.

She suddenly beamed at me. "No it doesn't." She threw her arms around me in a strong hug. "I'm so glad it's all true! You're here! And you're together! I love happy endings!"

I patted her on the back and she let me go, smiling sheepishly. I returned the smile. "Glad to know we have fans."

"Always, madame," she replied earnestly. She handed the mask back to Erik. "Thank you."

"Not at all," he replied smoothly, ever the gentleman. "Now, I believe we have dinner reservations? And you, mademoiselle, have your friends to get back to?"

"Yes, yes of course." She gave us a shy wave and left the room.

That night we had dinner in our living room and dined on cheese and bread while Erik called Nadir. "Did you know that Mme. Giry's orphaned fille is at the opera house?"

"Of course, monsieur," Nadir replied, sounding groggy. "She's on the full scholarship, non? That was the most I could do for her without raising questions."

"I see. Thank you, Nadir. Apologies for interrupting your rest." Erik hung up and turned to me. "Is it just me, or do you think there have been far too many orphans in our story?" he asked.

I smiled. "I agree. Far too many orphans."

Happy was the day when the famous Destler's adopted a promising ballet student, Marie Giry. It was no surprise that Mlle Giry grew up to become the star of the ballet in the Opera Garnier, and in ballets all around the world.

Nicole and Erik Destler, besides sponsoring and fostering several other promising young musical students, wrote, directed, produced, and starred in many operas of their own.

And when the couple was old and grey, they retired to a small house on the beach of Southern France near an old church that was supposedly haunted. And for the next twenty years, late at night, ghostly music could be heard echoing from the organ in the basement of the church.

The legend of le fantome de l'opera and his soprano lives on...

~Fin~

 **A/N: Wow, what a journey. Thanks for reading, everybody! Hope you enjoyed the story :)**


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